Dirty Games
by leaf and blues
Summary: Sasori's a dangerous spy. When he's assigned to be Deidara's bodyguard, his heartless facade falls apart just when he needs it the most. Against a powerful criminal from his past, can the duo manage to get their minds out of the gutter and pull together?
1. On the Job

**Disclaimer: I don't own Naruto or any part of it.**

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><p><strong>Dirty Games<strong>

_Summary: Sasori's undoubtedly one of the most dangerous and notorious spies in the world. When he's assigned to act as a teen boy named Deidara's bodyguard, his heartless facade falls apart just when he needs it the most. Up against who's arguably the most-wanted criminal internationally, one that has direct ties to Sasori's miserable past, will Sasori and Deidara manage to get their minds out of the gutter just long enough to pull together?_

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><p><strong><em>Part I: Deidara<em>  
><strong>

**Chapter One**

**On the Job**

**October 6, 7:18 am – London Base of Operations**

"You're late, Sasori." A female voice teased as it passed him.

"I know." Sasori grunted back in response, his teeth gritted together in annoyance.

There was no point in arguing with her. Konan was the spy representative of Paris, France, a woman in a man's world. She had long ago beaten the odds even before she had become a part of the team that fateful afternoon. Eventually, she'd succumbed to the potent attraction and love she'd had for Pein and married him in Paris, her city, in the midst of a mission with only the team as their witnesses. Honeymoon had to wait until the mission was over and done with, but that didn't take long. Sometime after that, after Sasori took his leave, Pein was bumped up to all-powerful leader and nagging boss to everyone but his wife. They continued to be inseparable. It was the little things – or big things, really – like that that made Sasori believe in love again.

The short red-headed man slurped down a large portion of his morning coffee, not caring of how much it burned his throat, as he made his way down the familiar white marble and glass halls to Pein's absurdly contemporary high-rise office. He didn't even knock as he let himself through the heavy noise and shatterproof glass doors.

"I was expecting you twenty minutes ago." Pein, from his tone of voice, was not angry. If anything, he sounded rather amused by Sasori's little slip up.

The big boss had been looking out his glass wall windows to all of London, enjoying the million-dollar view being the boss of Akatsuki, the world's greatest collection of international spies, granted him as he waited for his normally ridiculously punctual old friend to show up. Sasori's eyes drifted to the panoramic view of Pein's timeless city. The all-glass skyscraper that was the Akatsuki London Base of Operations was situated along the banks of the great River Thames. Pein's office in particular faced the Palace of Westminster, an old landmark that was situated within a walking distance of the modern headquarters. The Big Ben stood proudly with its little hands pointing towards the numbers in the old and universal manner of telling time. In the distance, across the wide river, was the distant London Eye, the large white-coated Ferris wheel that looked down on its entire city. He withdrew.

"Cut me some slack, will you?" Sasori snapped. "I hate flying."

Pein chuckled. He made his way to his desk, fingering the glass picture frame that held the last portrait of him with the original team, Sasori included, back in the old days as he slumped down his big, comfy and black leather boss chair. He spun the chair on its heels to face Sasori, fingers firmly grasping the armrests. "I know you've been out of commission since the incident five years ago," Sasori cringed at the inevitable mention of it. Pein either ignored him or hadn't noticed as he kept going. "But we need you in this mission. I knew you wouldn't forgive me for leaving you out if I did."

"Is this about him?" Sasori narrowed his eyes suspiciously, suddenly very aware of his very tight grip on the paper coffee cup. Some of the black liquid had already spilled on his otherwise pristine clean and perfectly sculpted fingers.

"Zetsu thinks so." Pein admitted tiredly. Only then did Sasori truly see how weary the condition Pein allowed himself to be in, with the stress lines eminent even on his heavily pierced face. The guy looked worse than Sasori did and the latter was positive he looked absolutely dreadful with the dark lines under his eyes and the fixed grimace he so loved to wear around. He did not appreciate being woken up ludicrously early in the morning only to be summoned from his cosy Italian flat to fly – fly! – back to London. It was just too troublesome, especially after having gotten used to sleeping lazily until well past noon for the last five years.

"Fill me in." In all of the twenty years Sasori had known the guy, Zetsu's hunches had never been wrong. He didn't think this would be the first; in fact, he was sure this was one of those things that would never have a first time.

"You know how crazy elections get." Sasori's lips hardened. Pein continued. "Someone's been blackmailing the candidates. Have you heard of the disappearance of Lady Tsunade's brother Nawaki last week?"

Sasori nodded. "It's all over the news."

"Onoki's paranoid. He thinks his grandchildren could be next."

As much as Sasori liked the old guy – Onoki was a good contact of Akatsuki's, having hired the organization to go about doing his shit more than anyone else – he saw nothing to provoke him. Sasori didn't even think that Nawaki was 'kidnapped' to begin with.

"Don't you think we're taking pretty drastic measures after only one incident? How do you know it's even going to happen again? I really don't see how this is related to Orochimaru at all. It's just not the way he would have things done." The weight of Orochimaru's name was heavy. Pein sighed.

"Oh, we're sure more than sure that he's going to strike again." Pein shuffled through his papers. Sasori arched a brow at him in inquiry. "You should read this. It'll put everything into perspective, as you would call it."

Sasori silently accepted the folded piece of paper from Pein and imperturbably opened it up. He had always been a fast reader; it was something that had helped him greatly in life especially given his reading and studying habits. But this, while ridiculously simple, required him to read through slowly three times over before it sunk in.

_Let's play, marionette. I know you love solving riddles._

"They found it under Nawaki's pillow. You already know he was kidnapped in his sleep." Pein's voice pierced through the dreaded silence. "We're all working on this believe me, but we need you, especially you, as close to Onoki's grandkids as possible at all times. He's already agreed to having you stay in their home. How fast can you get there?"

"Only as fast as your best jet." Sasori laughed bitterly. The thought of another plane ride so soon was not welcome, but it was something direly important. There were some upsetting things in life you just never got used to no matter how constant they were.

"Get going then. You have thirty minutes to catch it. No packing again?"

"Luggage is overrated. If it's important, there's a store nearby that specializes in it."

He got back to London City Airport, the only airport within the actual vicinity of Pein's city, with plenty of time to spare.

Airport security was a bitch, but was what his death glare was for. He also had a genuine police badge with fake name on it with him for – convenience, really – situations like that. He was taking Pein's personal jet to get to the Iwagakure manor in Louisiana. Five years ago, before his leave, he used to do that as well, only this jet was a newer, faster jet. He hoped it was less nauseating as well.

"We're glad to see you back, Sasori-san." Pein's personal pilot, Bert, also happened to be a personal friend of Sasori's. The redhead managed to abuse Pein's wonderful jets more than even Pein; before Pein got Konan her own jet, Sasori had been second. With her out of the way, Sasori was back to number one freeloader.

"It's nice to be back, I think." Sasori was helped into the jet. He carried with him only his everyday satchel, a rustic brown leather thing that contained only his essentials and his laptop.

He settled down on the sinfully comfortable daybed pressed to the side, allowing himself that much for comfort. Some five minutes into the air he'd probably flip his trusty Mac open and finish one of the Stephen King books he'd brought along. That was the problem with private jets; once you got used to one, you'd never go back to commercial airplanes. First Class wasn't so bad, but Sasori was an introvert by nature and solitude was something priceless to him. Some commercial airplanes offered private rooms, sure, but then he'd just feel claustrophobic. It was annoying him how much everything annoyed him, but it was who he was and he couldn't do shit to change it.

True enough, he was all snuggled up on a corner crouched over Stephen King's Insomnia, laptop open and inviting before him, only thirty minutes into the flight. His Blackberry was beeping constantly; he figured Hidan found out that he was forced back to the job and decided to spam him. But that wasn't going to get to him, no. He was actually pretty excited to be back. Being a spy, after all, had been his life for fifteen whole years prior to his hibernation.

The rest of the flight was pleasant enough. None of Pein's stewardesses so much as bothered to speak to him; he figured Bert had already told them off. They served him two meals in eight hours hours without a word; Pein's airplane food wasn't at all too bad. They served him pasta, regular pasta, the kind you find in every street corner and every cupboard in Venice or in any country for that matter. He had already finished Insomnia and moved on to a James Patterson novel by the time the plane landed in New Orleans' Louis Armstrong International Airport.

He was greeted by a black convertible driven by a slim raven-haired man and his brawly blue-skinned partner on his way down the steps. Sasori tossed the satchel into the exposed passenger seat before so much as opening the door and letting himself in.

"The old team, huh?" Sasori mused. Kisame cheerfully handed him a pair of sunglasses that mimicked the ones they had on themselves.

"Just like the old times." Kisame barked out laughing as Itachi stepped on the gas pedal, forcing them forward rather quickly.

The Iwagakure Bayou was a low-lying half-swamp half-town suburban area located in close proximity somewhere between Baton Rouge and New Orleans herself. Time seemed to move extraordinarily slowly in the small town; Sasori figured that if he had come to visit two hundred years ago, it would not have been too different. The influence of the French was strong, persisting even in the modern era.

Itachi drove them past the large dam-turned-highway across downtown Iwagakure and down a rugged dirt road straight into the marshlands. His eyes flitted about, struck by the bayou itself and the large canals above her that fed her the sewage of her citizens and the more dangerous wastes of the old factory. The place was flooded; the distinction between the land and the ponds was almost nonexistent. Sasori felt his short curls cling to the sides of his skin not from the sweat that formed there but from the humidity that crawled into the vehicle.

"To think people live here." Kisame commented starkly.

The car stopped before a large colonial manor Sasori could only describe as French-Creole in architecture. He noticed the murky waters that attempted to devour the great home. He was more than aware of the fact that it was the very Mississippi river that he stood upon at that instant and that it was her waters that judged him and her alligators that observed him. A frog croaked beside him.

"Rich kids." Kisame whistled. "Kind of reminds me of you, Itachi."

Itachi completely ignored his partner's remark and handed Sasori a couple of folders stuffed with documents. Sasori figured they were the in-depth profiles of Onoki's grandchildren, the ones he was supposed to keep an eye on.

"Basics, Sasori. First up's Deidara. Blonde male, about an inch or two taller than you; keeps his hair up in a ponytail. He's exactly eighteen as of right now. His younger cousin is Kurotsuchi. She's got short black hair and pinkish eyes and is precisely seventeen years old. Be nice and try not to give them the impression that you'd rather eviscerate them than befriend them. Remember, you're a family friend, not a stranger. Now run a brush through your hair and try to look pretty."

"Got it." Sasori already slipped the documents into his satchel and flung his body out of the car rather immaturely. "I'll skim through these when I get settled."

"Good." Itachi nodded. "Kisame and I will check into the closest hotel possible. Kakuzu and Hidan are finishing up on their current mission; they should be here in a few days." Itachi watched Sasori calm himself. His normally impassive expression hadn't changed, but Itachi could literally feel the excitement emanating from him. "Good luck."

"Let's hope." Sasori bid his friends goodbye and they drove off without a fuss.

Turning back towards the driveway, Sasori walked past the two guards who had already been expecting him. He watched carefully on where he stepped, the unnerving perfectionist in him warning him of any stray frogs that may find themselves plastered into the soles of his newest pair of loafers. He had to squint somewhat, straining his eyes for light; while it was technically midday, the groves of the mossy oaks on top of the imminent fog was too thick to allow any amount of illumination through them, rendering the exterior of the manor murky and dim. The dankness of the soil had already gotten into the insides of his clothing, spoiling the fabric.

Sasori stood before gargantuan oak double doors. He took a deep breath before pressing the doorbell button, passing the time by admiring the intricate handiwork that was the lion's angry head on the heavy golden knocker.

**October 6, 4:16pm – Iwagakure Bayou Swamp Mansion**

"So you basically thought it was perfectly okay to invite Kurotsuchi and another friend of yours to crash my place without so much as giving me a heads up, huh?" Deidara was clearly irritated.

"Why do you always question me, Deidara?" Onoki was exasperated. Dealing with his loud and troublesome grandson tended to do that to him. Kurotsuchi snickered. She knew Deidara had absolutely no problem letting her stay anyway, but it was always amusing to watch the two eggheads fight.

"Because you never make sense, you art-hating sack of wrinkles!" Deidara thundered. Onoki waved him away.

"You never had a problem with having guests around. It's not like you don't have the room, anyway."

"That's not the point, un." Deidara fumed. "Just because I don't kick them out as soon as they turn up on my door doesn't mean I don't have a problem with it. It just means I have a little something we like to call 'hospitality,' un."

The distinct sound of an explosion echoed throughout the wide rooms of Deidara's home.

"Doorbell." Onoki stated flatly. "Aren't you going to answer?"

Deidara narrowed his eyes and gave the old man a sour look. "Forget it, un. He's your guest. You answer it." He stalked off to climb the winding carpeted wooden staircase, walking past the antiquated grand piano and six-foot-tall double bass along the way.

"You know gramps, he does have a point." Kurotsuchi teased. Onoki gave her a frustrated look.

"Get the door. I need to speak to the visitor right away."

"Geez, you act as if you've never met the guy." She muttered sardonically as she rolled her eyes and sauntered over across the hall to greet the mysterious visitor.

**October 6, 4:17pm – Iwagakure Bayou Swamp Mansion**

"Hey, you're actually pretty cute." A slender dark-haired teen said as she let Sasori in. "I honestly did not expect that."

Most jobs were forced to hire and treat workers equally regardless of whether they were attractive or not. When you're a spy, it's absolutely necessary to have great acting skills, something that directly translates to amazing charisma each time. Sasori was more than aware of the fact that his pretty face had aided him countless of times over the years. He hadn't been thinking of that when he made the decision twenty years ago, but he sure as hell was relieved he did. It just made manipulating others so much easier when their hormonal reactions were in your favour.

"So, what's your name? You don't look that much older than me. Where do you go to? Are you here long?" She instantly bombarded him with questions, her eyes wide.

Sasori was instantly enamoured by the interior of the Iwagakure home. He recognized the walls as the very same ones that graced the Chateau de Versailles. He'd been to that magnificent place several times, once on a job and many other times for leisurely purposes. The rounded ceiling was painted in creamy shades, golden cornices lining where they met the flat wall panelling. Small but impressive chandeliers were dipped down overhead by the use of chains. Golden candelabra were mounted on the walls on the sides of the large antiquated double doors that separated the different rooms of the manor. Expensive looking paintings hung on the bare walls. Sasori already felt at home.

"Leave us, Kurotsuchi." Onoki stepped out from a faraway room and turned to Sasori, beckoning him to come. He looked both surprised and amused when he realized just who Pein had sent to monitor his beloved grandchildren. "Sasori Akasuna? Is that really you?"

Kurotsuchi snorted and stalked off, muttering a silent "Sasori, huh? Nice name." that Sasori barely heard. Onoki waited for him at the end of the long hallway in a room filled with luxurious and overstuffed large sofas. He actually recognized several of the paintings he passed, probably because they were no more than skilful reproductions. He found romantics; Ivan Aivazovsky's _The Ninth Wave_ had always been one he particularly liked. Surrealism was everywhere, too. He easily spotted two reproductions of Salvador Dali's works, _The Persistence of Memory_ and _Cannibalism in Autumn_. Vladimir Kush was there in the form of _Metamorphosis._

He settled himself satisfyingly down on a gold-coloured velvet chair, moving aside the similarly coloured throw pillows. Sasori fingered the embossed floral pattern of the chair as he listened to Onoki rant about the issue and how much his presence meant to him. He couldn't help it that his eyes would occasionally move around to take in the room piece by piece, the French panelling of the tall walls, the thick Persian carpet over the parquet wooden flooring, the surrealistic panorama against the right wall. The chandelier was one that was manually lit with matches, he realized. The wax oozed off the unscented candles as the minutes ticked by on the classic grandfather clock pushed to the corner by the wide staircase.

"They'd told me time and time again that you weren't available over the years, that you had gone on a temporary leave, but now you're back and that's wonderful, absolutely wonderful. I don't think I trust anyone there more than I trust you. You've always been the quickest and the most efficient one on the job. But why are you alone? Where's Orochimaru?"

Sasori suppressed a curse and answered as gently as he could. "He's out. Permanently." Onoki had paused for a few moments, perhaps a few seconds too long, before he realized that the subject was not to be travelled and recomposed himself. Rogue spies were a sensitive and top secret issue.

"At least now I can relax, knowing only the best is watching over my precious kin." Onoki's gaze drifted and a sad expression seemed to materialize. Sasori couldn't put his finger on it.

"You needn't worry at all, Onoki." Sasori referred to the old man by his first name. "If anything goes wrong, and they will, knowing my luck," Onoki smiled wistfully at this. "I've got the team on my back. We'll do more than our best. Failure is not an option – it has never been an option in Akatsuki."

"That's why I turn to your organization for everything." The old geezer announced proudly. "I'm leaving now; there's a press conference looming about. I actually just went here to make sure things went well, but don't tell the kids that." He laughed nervously. "They think I'm an uptight scrooge."

Between his hectic job and his notoriety as having been one of the strictest and most successful generals in the army during the war, Sasori wasn't surprised. He figured that, even after so many years, Onoki was still hesitant of showing his true self even to his family. His military upbringing made sure of that. The old general stood up and prepared to take his leave as he bid his redheaded friend goodbye.

"Deidara's pretty hot-tempered, but I wager he'd show you to your room if you ask. Just go up those stairs and straight into his bedroom; it's the one overlooking the bog out back."

It was easy to get lost in a place like the Iwagakure swamp mansion.

Luckily, Sasori had been born with a natural instinct for mapping. He never got lost, ever. It may have had something – or everything – to do with the fact that he always followed directions perfectly when most people tended to improvise a bit or skip vital steps they thought unimportant.

He knocked first, eyes lost in the carving on the heavy doors once more, before knocking again when nobody answered. Sasori wasn't known for his patience. He let himself in and shut it gently behind him. He instantly realized that the room he was in was rather modern in contrast to the rest of the old house. The floor was a shiny marble, definitely waxed often, and the walls were covered from top to bottom with colourful abstract and surrealistic paintings. Some of them weren't even hanging; they were simply pushed to the side, out of the way. His eyes carefully examined each and every piece of artwork around him, noticing the similar signatures on the bottom left of them of each portrait.

_Deidara_

_So the kid's an artist_, Sasori mused in his thoughts. _This should be interesting._ Eventually the kid hadn't even bothered framing them. It was easy to see the evolution of his talent and his interests, the incredibly bright and detailed surrealism and then the splattered abstract. Shelves were pushed to the wall regardless of whatever painting they covered. These shelves were filled with little widgets and figurines, some crafted of scrap metal and others of clay. Like the paintings before them, these had evolved from small and detailed to simplistic and large.

"Shit." Sasori was snapped from his thoughts by the urgent cursing of Deidara. He whipped around to see the teen reaching down to pick up a fallen round piece of metal. He was sculpting something big on a wooden table out on the balcony overlooking a small bayou. From the looks of it, Deidara, his back to Sasori, hadn't noticed him yet; Sasori figured the wood panelled glass doors that separated them had numbed the sound of his earlier knocking. Only his superior ears had allowed him to hear the kid through them.

Sasori sighed. _Here I go..._

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><p><strong>AN: So...what do you think? I've read through it a million times checking for typos so I'd be royally pissed if I still managed to miss a few. Idea was random, but I like it. Yes, this is Sasodei. Eventually.**

**Reviews appreciated but not needed. I write this because I honestly like it (and I love Deidara and Sasori and think that you can never have enough of those two). But seriously, I like to hear from you guys. I'll update soon.**


	2. It's a Date

**Disclaimer: I don't own Naruto.**

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><p><strong>Chapter Two<strong>

**It's a Date**

**October 6, 4:23pm – Iwagakure Bayou Swamp Mansion**

"You need to dent it." Sasori stated flatly.

Deidara looked up to the mysterious visitor in surprise and annoyance. He hadn't noticed the redheaded boy sneak up on him. The very thought of it irked him. He didn't like it when people told him what to do, either, so that was two strikes down for the new guy.

"Otherwise it won't hold." Sasori pressed. Deidara rolled his eyes and mindlessly followed Sasori's advice, not really expecting anything to come out of it but surprised when something did. _Maybe he's not so bad after all_, Deidara concluded.

"What do you want, un?" Deidara refused to admit to the redhead that he had been playing around with the sculpture for thirty minutes straight just trying to figure it out before Sasori gave him the life-changing hint of denting it.

"I'm Sasori. Onoki told me to ask you for a room." He fingered the strap of his satchel for effect. Deidara stared him down for four seconds straight before rolling his eyes and deciding to play along.

"I'm Deidara, though he probably already told you than, un." He sighed. Pushing the metallic sculpture of his simplistic owl aside, Deidara walked back into the house and gestured for Sasori to follow him.

"He didn't tell me you were an artist." Sasori purposely ran his fingers though the paintings he passed by. He absolutely loved touching art, even paintings. There was just something about the wonderful texture, let it be smooth or rough, that captivated him even more so than the colours. "These are rather impressive."

"He never cared for my art, un. All he's ever cared about was military school and guns and avoiding lawsuits." Deidara watched Sasori's appreciative stroking. "Do you like art, un?"

Sasori smiled, albeit slightly. "Yes. Very much. I actually immigrated to Italy just to be surrounded by it." They had stopped walking now, with Sasori continuing his silent admiration and Deidara growing more and more curious by the second.

"What's it like there?"

"In Florence?" He paused, thinking quickly. "I like to think of it as the perfect semblance between Renaissance, Gothic and Romanesque architectural styles. For most people they all look the same, but to me there's just a distinction between those types of structures and others. The history is so overwhelming and beautiful."

Deidara pursed his lips as he pondered on what Sasori had said. "I don't have a problem with old art, and I do know it, but I don't get why you'd be so enamoured by a dead city so much." Suddenly, he flashed a broad grin. "If I could move anywhere, I'd move to New York, un."

"Florence isn't dead." Sasori argued. "It's bursting full of life with its timeless art!"

"'Timeless' is just another term for outdated, un." Deidara rolled his eyes. "Florence's art was at its peak six hundred years ago and it will always be remembered for it. But that peak has gone and died and you're living in the modern age now, un. Those who adapt live the longest; why are you so stubborn to accept that modern art is the art of now?"

There was _some_ truth in it, Sasori knew, despite how much he loathed that small truth.

"But that's what makes them beautiful, don't you know, how eternal their art has become, surviving even the test of time. New York's modern 'art' will die soon. Florence's art will endure forever." They stared each other down. "Art is something beautiful and amazing left long for the future; art is everlasting."

"No, it's not, un." Deidara snorted. "Art is the beauty of a transient moment of explosion."

"Clearly, you are demented." Sasori rolled his eyes. "Explosions aren't art; in fact, they _destroy _art. If anything, they are anti-art, brat." He tinged the last word with irritation.

They continued to stare each other down, two stubborn male artists with their murderous eyes that emanated the loathing they felt for each other's views on their passions. They could have continued bickering like that for several hours if Sasori's phone had not begun vibrating in his pocket at that instant. Deidara turned to his paintings the moment Sasori placed the infernal contraption to his ear and answered, pretending not to eavesdrop.

"What do you want?"

"Touchy, touchy," Itachi's voice was teasing at first. Sasori rolled his eyes. But then Itachi's tone turned cold and serious. "Did I wake you up? Have you been sleeping these past few minutes?"

"Of course not; why would you even think that?"

"Because it's as if you have been." Itachi's voice was laced with irritation. Sasori could hear traffic in the background. "You were supposed to keep an eye on Onoki's grandkids."

"Cut to the chase." Sasori hissed bitterly. He felt the irritation and the anxiety well up inside him. He really didn't like it when Itachi baited him like that. Nobody did.

"Kurotsuchi left the manor minutes ago and it seems you haven't even noticed." Sasori's eye widened. "Kisame and I can't tail her right now. We're stalking what we think may be Orochimaru's right-hand man. Still, Kisame's unnerved. Go fetch her right now."

Sasori didn't waste time in pulling out Kurotsuchi's files. His eyes scanned it quicker than Deidara would have liked. More than anything, this was what the files were for: forming a somewhat false understanding of their target. Deidara couldn't help himself when he slowly started to crane his head to the side in an attempt to view the papers. He lost his balance as soon as Sasori's head snapped to his direction, carelessly but neatly sliding the folder back into the satchel.

"What's the hottest club less than one hour away from here?"

"Boom, but that's in Baton Rouge." Deidara's face depicted honest confusion. "Why, un?"

"Because I'm taking you there. Right now." Sasori quipped, swinging the satchel over his shoulder effortlessly despite its size versus his own and stalking out the door, hand firm around Deidara's wrist.

"I'm not going out with you, dammit, un!" He yelled exasperatedly, trying desperately to free his arm from Sasori's iron grip, but the redheaded man was stronger than he thought.

"Really, now? My treat." He clucked his tongue sardonically.

"Fuck you, I'm not poor, un." Deidara countered defensively and decided to plant his legs as securely as he could on the ground instead of squirming uncomfortably. Apparently, it worked better than his last strategy. At least now Sasori had stopped to look at him, albeit a little too smugly. Deidara felt really uneasy with the other man's smirk directed right at him like that. "I'm not going out with you." Deidara repeated, more to himself this time.

"Fine, you don't have to be with me. Just drive me there and wait at the car or something. I'll find some other random _attractive _stranger to go with." Nothing escaped Sasori's trained eyes. It was apparent to him that Deidara had already begun warming up to the idea of going to the club with him, though the rate of it was much too slow and Sasori was not a patient man. "I haven't gotten laid in a while."

Deidara's eyes bulged. It wasn't just that it had come out of nowhere; it was that he had said it so nonchalantly as well. He swallowed thickly before replying stubbornly and slowly.

"Fine, un."

Sasori didn't even get the chance to grin at him. The younger man was already red at the face and dragging him out of the house and into one of his favourite cars. _That was easy_, Sasori concluded.

Boom was more than just a hot club. It was _the_ hot club in not only Baton Rouge but the entire state of Louisiana, Sasori figured.

Standing at about twenty stories high, the place doubled as a theatre, a casino, a lounge, and so much more. It featured more amenities than most others especially in the area. Sasori thought of it as Las Vegas packed into one huge ridiculously glass themed building. From where he stood, even in the dark, he could tell from the glass walls that some of the higher floors had been filled with water.

_Great, a ginormous pool club. _He gritted his teeth together in annoyance. _I hate water_.

"Park it, Bob." Deidara tossed his keys to the man that greeted us. He was dressed in a gleaming turquoise tuxedo with an oceanic design. Sasori wasn't particularly fond of seahorses – in fact, he thought of them as something out of a child's toy – but whoever designed the man's uniform had blended the creative images of marine life perfectly with the garment.

"The usual, then." Bob chuckled softly as he did his job.

"You're a regular?" Sasori raised a curious eyebrow in inquiry. Deidara shrugged it off like it was nothing.

"I guess you can say that, un." Noticing Deidara's quick replies, Sasori changed the subject.

"I thought you were going to wait by the car."

"The fuck, un. Where's the fun in that?" Deidara grinned. It was a big, bright and natural but somehow scary smile. Very attractive.

"So you're coming with me?" Sasori smirked again, earning him an elbow to his chest.

"Don't get your hopes up. You find your date, I'll find mine." After they had gotten in without fuss – Deidara was a special member, whatever that meant – Deidara was planning on going ahead, but he was stopped by a hand to his shoulder. He turned around, clearly irritated. "What now?"

"Don't get too drunk. I'll expect you back here as soon as possible. Don't keep me waiting."

"Whatever, un. This was your idea, anyway." He brushed Sasori's hand off with the back of his palm before diving head first into the sea of bodies. Sasori watched him go until he was completely out of sight.

Sasori hadn't been expecting to go to Boom that day. If he had known about the obvious dress code, he would have dressed up. Still, his casual clothes weren't actually too casual. Apart from the obvious lack of flashy colouring in them, he was dressed more or less like every other man in the room. Deidara hopefully wouldn't stick out too much; best case scenario, he wouldn't stick out at all.

_Alright, Kurotsuchi first and foremost._ Sasori told himself. _Short black hair, simple pink eyes. Distinctive enough._ With so many people in the building and so many floors to look through, Sasori wasn't so sure. He pulled out a black velvet cloth bag from his pocket and spilled its contents to the floor. With the music so high and everyone focused on lustfully grinding with each other, hopefully nobody would notice the little camera bots flying around.

He'd left his heavy satchel in Deidara's silver Mercedes awhile ago, packing with him only the necessary tools to get the job done and then some for the occasional emergency. He slipped on the special brown-tinted shades and the earpiece Zetsu had given him. From behind the sunglasses he could see the building from a hundred different angles and rooms, virtually covering everywhere the bots had flown into. It was a handy tool for times like that one.

"Find her yet?" Sasori asked with minimal movement to his lips.

"Nope. Under this light, virtually everyone but you seems to have black hair." Zetsu replied sarcastically through the earpiece. "You should have offered to dye her hair the same as yours."

"Hello, cutie. What can I get you?" A female bartender asked coyly.

Sasori had already walked off to the bar, knowing that just standing around would seem a bit off. He wasn't one to take chances. He ignored the way the bartender rubbed her exposed breasts together and temporarily lowered his shades to glance at the assortment of drinks more clearly.

"Just your best bottle of whiskey, please." _Screw the menu._

"You've got great taste, but I don't think you're old enough for that yet, sweetheart." Her laugh was starting to irritate him.

Sasori was thirty-five years old, probably about ten years her senior. But he had the face of a fifteen year old kid, something that was entirely his fault. Not that he'd ever come to regret turning himself into a puppet. He still thought of it as the best thing he had ever done. He pulled out an ID together with one of his credit cards from his breast pocket. He didn't have anything genuine anymore. Everything, while all under the name Sasori Akasuna, was filled up with garbage information. At least, the dates were garbage. Sasori tried to keep everything as close to the truth as possible.

"Legal." He smirked. The lady's eyes grew wide when she saw that he was aged twenty-three according to the ID. After the initial surprise, she laughed softly.

"We're the same age! Who knew..."

"The whiskey?" Sasori reminded her, knowing better than to let her continue.

"Of course!"

In no time at all, Sasori found his fingers coiled around a pretty bottle of whiskey. The bartender had given him special attention after that, even bothering to slip her number into a small piece of paper as she handed him the bottle he ordered. _Pointless_, he thought. Sasori didn't believe he had emotions anymore. After losing the ability to feel the world around him physically, the feeling of emotions had slowly withered away as well. Not that he minded. If anything, it was an upside. The only emotion he had ever remembered feeling was the pain, anyway.

Women came and went, some alone, some with dates, but most of them had at least glanced at him lustfully. But those women were all high on the substances he knew so much and so little about. So, when the lights were finally cut off and the sound of gasps, screams, and glasses breaking filled the building in lieu of the ridiculously loud and heavily pounding music, Sasori only sighed before he took one last gulp of his whiskey and slid off the bar stool.

_Showtime._

_**October 6, 7:24pm – Boom**_

"_Don't get too drunk. I'll expect you back here as soon as possible. Don't keep me waiting."_

But all Deidara could hear was, "Don't. Don't. Don't."

"The thought, un." Deidara had already lost tracks of how many shots of gin and tonic he had chugged down without a care that hour. He had his arm around a pretty red-haired girl with chocolate brown eyes. She was petite and a bit too thin. Overall, she was not his type. Why he had picked her that night, he may never know. "It's my club. My car. My house. I can do whatever I want."

"Is something wrong?" The girl's eyes grew wide. Deidara shook his head.

"Not at all, un." He stroked her hair sluggishly.

_Poor girl_, he thought. He wouldn't be able to give her what she expected that night. Sure, he was drunk. But he wasn't _that_ drunk. Her eyes were a bit too big, too open. Her eyelashes were long, yes, but they didn't curl the way he thought that should. And she was too thin, much too thin. It wasn't like him to sway from his usual type of women – in fact, he can't actually remember a time when he'd picked a red-haired female over a blonde one – but he did so tonight. He thought that her hair was too fake, the red in them. Unlike Sasori's...

_Fuck you, un. You're drunk. This always happens when you're drunk._

No, he didn't like Sasori. He wasn't just denying it. He really didn't. Besides...he was straight, right? Onoki would explode if he found out Deidara had begun rooting for the other team, not that he was. Deidara shook his head again. _Why should I care about what Onoki thinks? The old fart... I'm getting my priorities mixed up, un._

And then the lights went out. The music, too. Deidara was probably the calmest in the room. He just waited. But then nothing happened.

"That's weird, un. The generator's not working?" He wondered aloud.

But then someone forcibly pulled the red-haired girl from his lap, causing her to shriek. The sounds of gunfire filled the room, causing everyone to scramble. He was at least five stories above Sasori now, if the redheaded asshole had not bothered to leave the first floor. Being drunk, his head was a little too slow for his taste.

"Fuck, un." He muttered right before he was restrained by two large males.

"Is this the one?" One of them asked. His voice was low and gruff.

"Yep, pretty sure of it." The other answered. Deidara rolled his eyes. _Disgusting_.

He took a moment to relax right before he opened his palms to reveal the little clay figurines he had pulled out from his pockets at the last moment before he was captured. He stuffed them down his captor's pants and slipped away just as they loosened their grip in surprised.

"What the—"

_Boom._ Nobody really deserved to die, except maybe those truly despicable people, but assholes truly deserved to lose their dicks at some point. Deidara knew that the two would eventually kill themselves over it anyway.

"He got away!" A new voice said.

"That's not fair, un. They can see in the dark." He huffed, pulling his bangs up and securing it with elastic. The lack of his thick bang over half of his face revealed the little invention he had crafted a few years ago. It was nothing really, just a little thing he liked to attach to his eye to allow him to see through virtually anything and everything. "One...two...three...looks like I'm outnumbered, un." He said, vision now clear even in the darkness. The three men that now charged towards him were leaner than the two he had just brought down – both who were on the ground at the other side of the room clutching to their destroyed crotches – but something about them was a little off. "Perfectly fair, un."

Deidara did not have a black belt. He had something better: actual military experience. Growing up in a military school as the general's only grandson tended to put a lot of pressure in one's shoulders. While dodging was not his forte, blocking came naturally. The three men were out within minutes. It wasn't easy, but nothing fun ever was.

He whipped around, grin on his face, only to meet a gun pressed to his forehead.

"Forgot one, blondie."

_**October 6, 7:25pm – Boom**_

Sasori can see in the dark.

More or less. His eyes were more inhuman than they were human; if that even made any sense. Anyhow, the blackout had forced him to take measures into his own hands. Zetsu was taking too damn slow in finding Kurotsuchi via the spy bots. He skilfully avoided collision with any of the panicked dancers as he strode past the chaos on the dance floor. His closest bet to Kurotsuchi was a lookalike dressed in a tomboyish get up about eighteen floors above him. The elevator was not an option, though. He doubted it was even working. So he took the stairs two at a time to get to his destination.

When he got into the nearly-empty room, he slid off his sunglasses and smirked.

"Kurotsuchi."

The female turned her head to him suddenly, revealing her panicked expression. "Sasori! Behind you!" She shrieked.

Sasori didn't even have time to wipe the smirk off his face when the bullet penetrated the back of his skull.

"Not so great now, are you, scorpion?" The holder of the gun said proudly and menacingly as he waited for Sasori's body to fall limp down to the ground. But that never happened. Instead, his head turned to him, twisting a full one-hundred-and-eighty degree. He nearly dropped his gun.

"Don't be so cocky." Sasori snorted. With a flick of his fingers, two small knives found their way into the enemy's throat, decapitating him. The poison, while not needed after all, seeped into his still warm blood nonetheless. That over, Sasori turned his attention back to untying the terrified Kurotsuchi.

"Y-you...I've never seen anyone...you..." Her eyes were focused on the headless body only meters away. The head had rolled a few feet from its body. She didn't know why it was called a clean cut when it spilled so much blood.

"Shh, I'm an ally. You can trust me." It only took a split second to cut off the ropes that bound her with the use of the small knives that extended from his wrists at will.

"But...he shot your head...you should be...dead..."

"I know, I know." Sasori helped her up now. She required more help than he would have liked. "He didn't get to my brain. I'll be fine."

She nodded, forcing herself to believe Sasori. She knew they were lies, because it just wasn't possible for him to survive. But he did and that scared her. While she was pretty boyish and violent herself, she was not like Deidara. She was scared of death.

The sound of rapid gunfire forced Sasori to wrap his arms around Kurotsuchi defensively while he whipped out the blades joint into his sides and spun them around restlessly to deflect the incoming bullets. The bullets never ceased.

"Your efforts are futile." A taunting but eerily familiar voice echoed. "Even if you did manage to save that one over there, the boy is more than enough."

_The boy is more than enough?_ _What_... Sasori's eyes widened. _They've got Deidara._ After mentally cursing to himself, Sasori carried Kurotsuchi and suddenly rocketed himself through the air, breaking the thick glass wall. He coiled himself protectively around Kurotsuchi, receiving a couple of the bullets that should have hit her. He was falling down too fast. He pulled on the hose that made up his artificial intestines and threw them skilfully to the direction of a protruding pole on the highest level. With a flick of his fingers, they wrapped around it firmly. A tug sent them flying upwards, barely catching the flat roof when gravity finally took over and pulled them back down.

"Stay here." Sasori ordered. Kurotsuchi didn't respond. "I'll get you help." He hastily whipped out his cell phone, but before he even clicked the speed dial, Kurotsuchi was gripping on to his arm.

"You're leaving me?" Her voice trembled.

"I have to. They've got Deidara. I'm supposed to protect both of you." Kurotsuchi withdrew when understanding dawned. Sasori was already out of her peripheral vision, running down the steps, eyes glued to the watch that told him Deidara was fifteen floors away. It was a damn good thing he had stuck the tracking chip on to Deidara's shoulder when he did, right before they split up.

"Man, where are you? It's all over the news—" Kisame would have given him a full review of everything he was already aware of if Sasori didn't cut him off right at that instant.

"Get a chopper or something to pick Kurotsuchi up. I left her at the roof."

"Alone? What the fuck, man?"

"I'm getting Deidara." He retorted irritably before sliding the phone back into his back pocket.

His heart was the last sentient thing in him at the moment. It was all that gave his current body life; or, at the least very, the ability to even move. He had a brain elsewhere, but that was top secret information. But anyway, his heart was going overdrive, beating much too fast. He was just so far away from what was potentially a doomed Deidara.

_It's my first mission in five years and I've already failed_. Sasori bit back a curse. _So much for having the perfect record._

Back in the old times, when he was happily and deceitfully partnered to what's-his-face, Sasori was known for his flawless execution of any and all jobs presented to him, no matter how risky or impossible they all seemed. He was a legend to all the spies old and new alike.

He wasted no time in launching himself head-first into the scene. His eyes went wild trying to absorb what had happened. Dead and bleeding bodies were everywhere. Some may have survived whatever catastrophe had transpired, but they would be unconscious by now. But, no matter how quickly his heart had been beating on the way down the endless fleets of straits, it seemed to freeze instantly the sound of his voice.

"Took you long enough, un."

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><p><strong>AN: It seems that I'm revealing back stories at the pace of a limp turquoise. Assume that the characters have exactly the same abilities and more or less the same ages as the manga/anime unless otherwise said. I like keeping true to the story as much as I can. It makes it more...believable to me, I guess. **

**I'm not sure as to whether the first part of the story made it clear already, but I love art. It's probably one of the reasons I liked Sasori and Deidara so much. My view of art leans more on Sasori's side, but a part of me just goes "WHOAH" at everything Deidara does, so...I'm stuck in-between. Tell me, are any of you art-lovers as well? Just a thought. I've always wondered as to whether their other fans loved art as much as they do. I know I do.**

**Thanks for the reviews, guys. Super appreciated. The more I write, the more ideas I get (and I already have enough to begin with). Writing is both a guilty pleasure and a chore. The best things in life are always bittersweet.**


	3. Ready, Aim, Fire!

**Disclaimer: I don't own Naruto.**

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter Three<strong>

**Ready, Aim, Fire!**

**October 6, 7:46pm – Boom**

"Took you long enough, un."

Sasori swivelled around to meet Deidara's taunting eyes. They were glimmering with bloodlust. Any sane person would have turned on their heels and ran away from someone like that, especially if they were juggling what appeared to be grenades. But Sasori never considered himself sane, not after everything he had been through. Sane was just too boring a life to go through.

Deidara's gaze moved from Sasori's bloodied head, gunshot evident, to the spiralling blades that protruded from his hips. They had completely shredded the bottom half of his favourite coat. The upper half, surprisingly intact, was stained with the blood that had immediately gushed from his head the first time he was shot. Whatever Sasori had gone through, Deidara wagered, was not pleasant. But Sasori was staring at him with such a calm expression it almost made him bark out in laughter.

"You knew, un." Deidara chuckled as he pocketed the unused bombs. He only had a few pieces left now. He hadn't been expecting an attack, but fending enemies off came naturally for him either way. He was scarily good at it, in fact, so scary it had been the reason he was banned from the military.

"I had a hunch." Sasori stated nonchalantly. The blades had ceased to move, revealing traces of blood. But it was dark and dried up, as if left behind from a previous time. "Aren't you so much as alarmed?"

"I guess you can say it hasn't sunk in yet." Deidara shrugged. He tried to keep from looking back at the piles of lifeless bodies around him. The lights were still out, but enough moonlight peered through the tainted glass walls to reveal the gruesome silhouettes of the aftermath. Deidara wondered as to whether Sasori would be more disgusted by the bodies themselves or the fact that most of those bodies had been of innocents. "I didn't think anyone was mad enough to go after me anymore, un."

Sasori ignored that remark for a soft beeping alerted him of something else.

_She's not there, Sasori._

The message had come from Itachi, who along with Kisame, had probably gone to go get Kurotsuchi at the roof by now. Sasori bit his lip irritably.

"That's because you were never the target." Sasori quipped, his tone filled with disgust and annoyance. "I'm too out of practice." He mentally scolded himself as he headed back to the staircase. Deidara furrowed his brows together in irritation and followed, trying to get the redhead's attention.

"What are you talking about, un? Stop being so fucking cryptic with me." They were literally leaping down the flights of stairs now, several steps as a time. Deidara was having trouble keeping up.

"Going to you was just a distraction." Sasori said carelessly. He wondered as to whether the brat had night vision too, since he'd managed to keep up even in the darkness.

"Spit it out already, un."

"They've got your cousin."

Deidara's eye widened in alarm as Sasori pushed the locked double doors to the first floor open. The lock burst at the action. He was brisk walking to the back door, narrowly avoiding the flashes of light that managed to get through the open doors. The media had already gotten to the incident. Deidara was running, his previous frozen state having brought distance between them.

"Where is she?" His voice was full of concern. But Sasori was working double time. His eyes managed to catch sight of an unregistered black van. A couple of men wearing dark colours had spotted him leave the building and hastily shuffled into their vehicle. It automatically lurched forward.

"I have a theory." Sasori said as he got on the closest motorcycle. He let his fingers get a good feel on the handles as he started the engine. After a few seconds passed, Sasori turned to Deidara dully. "Well, are you just going to stand there like a fool?"

"I'm not getting on that thing with you, un." Deidara said stubbornly. Sasori glanced at the van in the distance. Soon, he wouldn't be able to tell where it was.

"You want to let them get away with your cousin?"

"Fuck, un." Deidara cursed, his deep tone sounding pretty convincing maybe more to himself than to the other. He shifted uncomfortably behind Sasori, making a mental note to prevent himself from hugging the shorter man's torso when they began moving. Sasori had already put the blades on his hips away, though Deidara didn't catch exactly how and when he did so. "Is this right, un?" If memory served right, Deidara had never been on a motorcycle with someone else before, or at all for that matter. Everything he knew about it he knew from movies.

"Mhm." Sasori grumbled smugly. They were thrust forward suddenly and Deidara couldn't help but wrap his arms around Sasori, mentally cursing the laws of physics and a certain Sasori for being such an asshole. He didn't think that Sasori even noticed his conflicted thoughts.

"Don't get any ideas, un." He tried to sound threatening. He really shouldn't be enjoying this, holding on to a cocky stranger while chasing down his cousin's kidnappers, but the daredevil in him felt right at home. They were way past speed limit now – they technically were from the start – and with his luck, Deidara knew they were going to crash into something soon.

"Wouldn't dream of it," Sasori mumbled.

Deidara ended up spacing out, just enjoying the wind against his face and his long blonde locks whipping around violently in the wind. Sasori managed to overtake every car that got in their way without spiralling out of control. They were nearing the van now. Sasori pulled a nine from his pocket and slipped it into Deidara's hands.

"Aim for the wheels." Sasori ordered. Deidara's eye widened. He wasn't very fond of guns. He was actually surprised Sasori had carried one around the whole time. He didn't think he liked the sound of that.

"Why don't you do it—" Deidara tried to argue, but he was cut off when Sasori suddenly jolted the bike to the side, narrowly avoiding the bullets that were fired from the van. But they were going faster than ever now, making up for the lost distance.

"Because the prey bites back." Sasori answered blankly. He turned again, this time to avoid collision with a car going the opposite direction. There weren't too many cars around now, though. Defeated, Deidara started to aim for the van. He furrowed his brows in concentration. "Any day now." Sasori said sardonically.

"You're moving too much, un." He argued. "Besides, I don't want to accidentally shoot someone else." It was so much less pressuring in the movies, Deidara decided.

Sasori moved the bike to the side just as Deidara pulled on the trigger, releasing the first bullet. It ended up hitting the bumper protector, doing absolutely no damage to the kidnappers.

"The _wheels_," Sasori hissed.

"It's your fault, un! You moved at the last moment!" Deidara scowled. The second bullet was fired right before Sasori managed to shake his aim again. While missing the wheels, it had narrowly hit the wrist of the van's shooter, causing them to drop their gun on the streets before pulling their hand back inside to inspect it or to simply hold it in pain. Sasori turned to avoid running over the fallen gun.

"That was ironic." Sasori said, feeling pretty stupefied himself. He didn't think Deidara had it in him to aim at something so small. He was going to ask for the gun back so that he could shoot the wheels himself when Deidara tossed it away. "That was not yours to throw away!" Sasori argued.

"Fuck guns, un." But Deidara was grinning.

He pulled out the grenades from earlier and expertly flung it towards the van. Sasori swivelled at the last moment, barely missing the explosion that followed. It flipped over twice, the back doors burnt away, before landing upside down on the nearly empty road.

"Brat, that was overkill." Sasori muttered, not really caring that the little moniker he had given Deidara during their first argument had already wormed its way into habit.

But Deidara wasn't listening to him. Even before the explosion had settled, the blonde man was already making his way to the scene, concern clearly etched into his features. When he threw the grenade, the only thing on his mind had been stopping the van. He cursed his violent nature for risking Kurotsuchi's life like that. He refused to think that she may have died in such an explosion.

Sasori didn't think most people would survive what had just transpired before him. So he took his time getting to the scene, letting Deidara search for the body of his cousin himself. The desperation in the blonde's eyes was clear.

"She's not in there, un." Deidara declared after what seemed like the tenth time of looking through every one of the bodies from the broken window. It was difficult to see the inside from there, but it was possible if one would only crane their head right and squint. "They're all just a bunch of dead bastards." He allowed himself to sit back at the middle of the street and laugh at the tight situation he was in. But then he saw something inside move. A bleeding hand pointed another gun at him for what seemed like the hundredth time in that night alone. He didn't even have time to move when he heard the gunfire.

But it wasn't directed at him. No, it didn't even come from the now dead bastard. Instead, it had come from Sasori. He blinked rapidly in confusion.

"I thought I tossed that away, un."

"I had another one." Sasori smirked weakly. His eyes drifted to the broken car again. Most of the grenade's damage had gone to the back wheels, specifically the left one. He chuckled.

"What's so funny, un?" As if it wasn't disturbing enough that Sasori had two guns – at least; Deidara wouldn't put it past him to have even more now – the unpredictable redhead was chucking right after such a disastrous happening.

"Looks like you got the wheels after all."

It seemed like a forever of silence had passed before the choppers arrived. There were police cars, too, and then the dreaded media. But neither Deidara nor Sasori cared. They had effectively blocked a commercial street and made the headlines for the second time that hour alone. Sasori didn't even bother fleeing the crime scene before his face was recognized, like a good spy was supposed to do. He just sat there, against the destroyed upturned car and across the blonde who wound himself together in a foetal position as he cradled himself forward and then backward slowly.

"Police, let me through." Itachi's voice was laced with poison and irritation. The terrified female cop let him through. Itachi, while remarkably young at twenty-one and somewhat handsome, had always carried an aura of intimidation with him. His burly and blue companion, Kisame, may have added to that. He calmly walked to the scenario and stopped less than a foot away from Sasori. "What happened?"

**October 6, 8:51pm**

"It was a ruse." Itachi was blunt.

Deidara had Sasori's bloodied but still functioning coat around him. He was freezing for some reason and required the extra warmth, seemingly not caring about the stained blood that came with it. His eyes were wide, mind adrift. Sasori was sitting beside him looking perfectly composed despite his dishevelled appearance. Kisame was very fidgety, turning his sights to the windows much too often. Itachi was very open to his disappointment and irritation as he pinched the bridge of his nose.

"I don't know what's worse, the fact that Kisame and I had been fooled or that you, the great Sasori, had fallen right into the exact same one. In one night, too."

After Itachi and Kisame had arrived at the scene, they had very nearly had to carry Sasori and Deidara into the car. Itachi was never one to smile for the camera, having literally shielded his face with his hands the closer he got to the crowd. Deidara had been shaken back then. He didn't look that much better now. Itachi supposed it had something to do with the violence, though Sasori knew better and instead thought that it was the fact that Kurotsuchi was missing that was disturbing him.

From the tainted windows, right before their car had sped away, Sasori had caught the sight of Hidan and Kakuzu arriving and Hidan stirring up hell all over the place. Hidan was famous for cussing off news reporters each time and Kakuzu for hauling him off to work literally by the shoulders. They would have the van inspected and disposed of properly. And then Kakuzu would either threaten or pay off the media. Everything was going to be okay for Akatsuki.

But Deidara, Sasori didn't think it was going to be okay for him. He honestly didn't understand the bond between cousins or even siblings. He was an only child, after all, and so were his parents. He wasn't exactly a family guy.

"It's too perfect." Sasori commented after a long pause.

"Do you think it's really him now, then?" Itachi asked.

"More than ever, yes." Sasori really needed a coffee at that moment, preferably black. Deidara, not understanding anything anymore, decided to intervene.

"Does Onoki know, un?"

"He's why we're here, Deidara." Itachi smiled sadly. Deidara nodded, as if trying to accept it.

"Who knew," Deidara laughed weakly. "The old geezer _does_ have a heart. I shouldn't have screamed at him, un."

"Deidara—" Sasori tried to calm him before he exploded. He didn't think 'brat' was fitting for the scenario, though. Besides, Kisame and Itachi would never let him live it down, the sadists.

"No, Sasori. Its fine, un." He faked a smile. Normally, Sasori couldn't tell fake smiles apart from real ones. But it was easy when it came to Deidara. His fake smiles were unnaturally wide and forced and never reached his eyes. His genuine ones were just, well, different. "But thank you. For trying, un."

On cue, the car came to an abrupt stop before Iwagakure manor's gates. Deidara had swung the door open right away, not bothering to say goodbye to any of the spies and not giving any of them a chance to do so. He closed it hard; the sound make Itachi cringe. From the windows Sasori could see that he made a beeline for the front doors. He wondered as to whether Deidara even noticed that his car had been returned. They had skipped making a pit stop at the fiasco at Boom for obvious reasons.

"He'll be okay." Itachi said it as if it were a fact. He pushed Sasori's satchel closer to his feet. "We already got you a hotel room. You'll be staying beside Kisame and me."

Sasori wasn't sure as to whether he was okay with the fact that only a thin wall was separating him from Itachi and Kisame's bedroom, even for just one night. The thought of it made him wince inwardly. Kisame seemed to catch this and barked out in laughter.

"We'll behave, I promise." Kisame tried to say. Itachi bit down on his lower lip and turned away as if embarrassed.

"I swear, you two are the _reason_ I have insomnia." Sasori remarked exasperatedly.

It didn't matter what Itachi and Kisame did that night. He knew he wouldn't be able to sleep anyway. Just twenty four hours ago, he had been bumming around in Florence, having lost his purpose. Even his art had dulled, losing the beauty they had once thrived on. It was only denial that kept him from admitting it. But now he was hauled into a fast-paced thriller of a mystery by his past, given a second chance at destroying what – who – had been his art in the first place.

_No,_ he shook his head. _My art is my art. He had been no part of it._

_That's not true,_ the taunting little voice pressed. _And you know it. The material may have come from your skilled hands, but the life in them had definitely come from him._

Sasori just wanted to crawl into a foetal position and rock himself to sleep. That is, if sleep was merciful enough to take him.

**October 6, 8:55pm – Iwagakure Manor**

Deidara ignored the looks he got from his house helpers. He doubted any of them had been through anything remotely similar.

He was more than aware of the fact that he looked like a bloodied mess. His hair was in complete disarray. Blonde and blood did not go well together despite how close their spellings were. While Sasori may have passed it off as a fashion statement what with his red hair – despite how inhuman the idea was of wearing bloodied hair for fashion was – Deidara figured he looked more like red velvet on cheese or something. While the idea of food revolted him at the moment, he had always been terrible at analogies.

As soon as he got into his bedroom, he allowed the heavy and ruined coat to slip off his shoulders. He stripped off his own shirt for good measure, too. It was equally as blood-stained as the coat anyway. He took a momentary glance as the stitches over his chest, running his hands over the contours of the large mouth there. It was overwhelming; the hunger the very presence of the mouth there gave him. He could remember it as clear as day, those years when the mouth's hunger had ruled his life. Why, he was even crying when Onoki had it stitched. But he wouldn't be sane enough for society if it hadn't been stitched the way it was.

But there were days when it was harmless. When he was born, for example; the mouth had been so adorable. At least, it was to his eyes. Anomalies like that were more normal than most people wanted to believe. Tons of other top-secret organizations made sure of keeping anomalies like that under the radar if only to give the masses a false sense of security. But that was okay. There was nothing wrong with that. Politics did the very same thing. They were there to fool people into thinking that they had a right to vote, the freedom of choice, or whatever else they liked to believe. And people, so desperate to have it, just believed it. But of course, there were the occasional smart people. There was a clear distinction to smart people and just plain in denial but opinionated ones, though.

But that was just Deidara's beliefs. And he wasn't the type to shove his beliefs down anybody else's throat. He hated how so many 'religious' folks tended to do that without even realizing it. The world developed through acceptance of differing ideas, not through the rejection of them. That was what made art so beautiful; that was what made _his_ art so beautiful. He accepted everything and rejected nothing. He could recognize beauty in every art even if it was against his own.

His eyes strayed to the countless of paintings in his bedroom. He had already run out of walls to hang them in and had opted to just shoving them to the sides. While he could have just moved some to the other parts of the house, most of them didn't feel right there. The house was made in that old way, rich in the French influence the entire bayou was crafted off of.

Deidara can honestly say that he had tried most forms of art he found interesting. In the beginning, he had started off sketching normal things. The influence of his own manor's beauty had gotten him into the incredibly detailed paintings of the renaissance era. Reproducing the old masterpieces was tedious but oddly enjoyable. It filled him with great joy that he was doing something beautiful. But renaissance art still fell into the category of old art and all old art was dead art.

So he embraced modern art and made it his own. He got into surrealism, but then interest in that had disappeared just as it did with romanticism and baroque and all of the others. While he was a talented and skilled painter, that was not what made him feel whole. He sauntered over to the balcony and resumed his position before Sasori had so rudely interrupted him hours before.

"Hi, un." Deidara lowered his head until his eyes were levelling the sculpted owl's. If it hadn't been for Sasori, he might never have been able to finish this masterpiece. The owl suddenly cocked his head to the side and rubbed its head against his maker's cheek affectionately.

Ah, yes. Deidara's very own art; the feeling of creating one's own art was always superior to the slight tingles merely reproduction gave off. His art was not flat like a painting, still like a sculpture or even robotic like a widget. His art was on its own indescribable level, not only rivalling the other great artists' but completely surpassing them. Sasori could not even begin to comprehend the beauty of his art. The man rejected everything against him; he was the complete opposite of who Deidara was.

"My art is beautiful because..." Deidara grinned as he allowed the owl to jump into his palms. It unfurled its wings, reading for takeoff.

He gave it a push, separating his palms and letting his arms fall to his sides as the little owl flew as high as it could, trying to reach for moon that watched over them through the clear and starry night sky. But then it couldn't, because as soon as it had reached the middle of the little lake behind Iwagakure manor it had burst into light. It was a wonderful fireworks display, made even more beautiful by the art that it had been even before the final explosion.

"...my art is _alive_."

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><p><strong>AN: Quick update. This was supposed to be part of Chapter Two, but I halved it for length reasons. Yes, the fic can get pretty bloody. I can't imagine anyone in Akatsuki _not_ being a gore magnet. Also, Deidara and Sasori may seem a little blood crazy. But that's ok since they're unabashed serial killers even in the series...**

**As always, reviews make me more motivated. Besides, your opinions helps keep everything in perspective and prevents it from getting messy (like my thoughts). Here's a thank you for everyone anyway, though. :)**


	4. Let Me In

**Disclaimer: I don't own any of these characters.**

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><p><strong>Chapter Four<strong>

**Let Me In**

**October 7, 2:34pm – The Big Bayou Hotel**

Sasori could almost feel the heated rays of the sun against skin. He expected the harsh band of light that seeped through his apartment's window on an irritatingly daily basis to blind him as he slowly opened his eyes.

But that never happened.

_Either the sun decided to be merciful today – highly unlikely – or all of that _wasn't_ a dream_. Sasori was mentally weighing each one's probability when an unwelcome face greeted him by slamming his bedroom's door wide open. He scowled. For a moment there, he had almost convinced himself that there was a solar eclipse and not an actual curtain over the useless windows that were not even his to begin with.

"You're finally awake, I see." Itachi smirked. Behind him, an attendant was holding up a pretty silver tray. Sasori raised a questioning but amused brow at his old friend.

"Breakfast in bed? Seriously? Did I win the lottery or something?" Not that he was complaining. The food looked absolutely delicious. There was just something about high-class hotel food that made Sasori drool; inwardly, of course.

Itachi dismissed the employee and seated himself comfortably on a sofa chair that faced Sasori. The latter knew he shouldn't have underestimated Itachi; the man was famous for many things back at the organization. He was extremely observant, analytical, and boasted a photographic memory that complemented all of his other characteristics. He was the very epitome of an international spy.

Sasori spilled butter and raspberry syrup over his flapjacks childishly before forking it and – rather sloppily and very much unlike his usual self – shoved it into his mouth. It caused his cheek to puff up as he tried to chew through the thick mess.

Several years ago, Sasori had gone on a mission with Itachi and Kisame. It had been an annoyingly simple mission, one that was done in a little less than a week and required virtually no effort at all for spies of their calibre. But somewhere along the way, Itachi had memorized every one of Sasori's most obvious patterns. Like how he always woke up in the afternoon and demanded breakfast food despite the fact that it was technically lunch time for everyone else for example. He also had an undesirable sweet tooth that showed itself when faced with syrup and jam and anything made of raspberries. It made him seem more truthful to the youthful appearance he paraded around.

Itachi pressed his lips together. Sasori was technically fourteen years his senior; they was no doubt about that. To a passerby Itachi was the obvious elder of the two; he was twenty-one, a young man. Sasori, on the other hand, had transformed his body into what it was now even before puberty was done with him. He still had a bit of baby fat making his face appear rounder than it should despite his wonderfully shaped cheekbones. His shoulders, while impressive, were not as broad as they should have been. He also lacked what Itachi considered proper muscle. Sasori could never have been truly burly what with the frame he was born in, but his stature now made him appear much too frail.

It was only his eyes that normally betrayed him. Reflected into those deep brown orbs was his true age, the thirty five years he had spent roaming the world restlessly for the inspiration he had so endlessly sought and never truly attained. He had found a temporary substitute for it in Orochimaru once upon a time, but that instant that come and gone and he was empty again. His adept talent would reject anything and everything that was unworthy of it, making his search more difficult than it should be. That much Itachi had learned about him. Still, Itachi often wondered to himself as to whether Sasori would have turned himself artificially immortal so young had it been a choice back then. The auburn-haired spy would never have admitted out loud, but who knew as to what went on it his thoughts.

"What?" Sasori demanded, furrowing his deep auburn brows together. Itachi suppressed a laugh. He truly did look like an adorable – yet truly beautiful – boy.

"Nothing. You just got some syrup on your cheek." He dismissed. Sasori groaned in annoyance as he tried to stick his tongue out as Itachi. But all that came out was pancake and syrup, making Sasori groan once more in disgust and irritation.

Itachi let Sasori finish his breakfast in peace. He figured the guy deserved as much. He preoccupied himself with staring down at the traffic that had accumulated outside. Currently, they were in the closest five-star hotel to Iwagakure manor. It just so happened to be The Big Bayou Hotel, a respectable high-class hotel located along the edges of Baton Rouge. Itachi wondered as to whether he should tell Sasori the true owner of the establishment. After all, it seemed that everything within a fifty-mile radius belonged to Deidara's family.

"Why are you here, Itachi?" Sasori finally said after a long pause. He had already finished his food, very nearly drinking the syrup cup dry. He pushed it aside but refused to look at his old friend in the eye. Itachi sighed.

"Keen as always, I see." He couldn't help but comment as he tried to put his words together. Sasori had probably never noticed, but it pained Itachi to see him so serious and alone. He took out a baby pink envelope from his breast pocket and placed it on the bed. Sasori opened it as he spoke. "Kakuzu found it in one of the bodies."

_Even now you cannot resist me, can you? But this is only the start of your troubles, my darling. It can be like the old times, you know, you and me up on that stage performing. Only this time the strings are mine; all mine. You might be an angel, but I am your god now._

"Can you make sense of it?" Itachi's voice shattered the looming silence. Sasori blinked aback, only beginning to realize that he had been absent-mindedly staring at the small piece of paper for several minutes now. It only made sense that Itachi had glimpsed at the letter before giving it to him, though. He shouldn't be irritated by the lack of privacy. Being a spy all his life, he was surprised he even _knew_ what privacy meant anymore.

"No." He admitted. It was true, anyway. His head was too out of sorts to make sense of anything at the moment. "He's only taunting me, I think."

Itachi nodded once, knowing better than to make some snappy or sarcastic remark when Sasori was in a mood that bad. They had avoided talking about Orochimaru at all ever since the incident that night five years ago. It was the rest of Akatsuki's persistence in talking to him about it that drew the barrier that now separated them. Kisame was one of those, unfortunately. Itachi on the other hand had never once spoken Orochimaru's name out loud before Sasori; implied it, yes, but never actually say it. And so he was able to keep connection with Sasori even as the years passed. It was minimal, but it was there. They still saw each other every week or so, despite Itachi's busy schedule and Sasori's nocturnal clock.

Itachi wouldn't admit it to Sasori right then, but he had been up all night with Kisame doing things that were much too professional for his liking. Sasori, while obviously miserable, had the easiest job of them all and still he managed to screw up. It was Itachi and Kisame who ran around keeping an eye out for virtually everything that moved within a ten kilometre radius. It was Itachi and Kisame who had to report anything and everything to headquarters. It was Itachi and Kisame who had to face the wrath of Pein when Sasori failed. Still, Itachi couldn't help but feel a tinge of sympathy whenever he looked at his redheaded friend's face. What he had now was nothing; at least – at the very least – Itachi had Kisame to comfort him. Sasori had all of his friends, true, but Itachi knew that wasn't what really counted. Inside, Sasori had no one, not even himself to confide in.

"You should get back to Deidara as soon as you can." Itachi cleared his throat to ease the rapidly thickening atmosphere. "You're on bodyguard duty, remember? Leave the cleaning up to the rest of us. We've got Hidan and Kakuzu here now. We'll be fine."

Sasori's thoughts instantly flashed to his memories of yesterday. Deidara's odd collection of paintings. Finding him all blood crazed surrounded by his victims. The overwhelming scent of alcohol that tickled his nose when Deidara embraced him. And then the hopelessness in his now dull blue eye after finding out that his cousin was not there.

It all felt so distant. But he knew that it had happened, every single bit of it. It felt just as real as every other memory Sasori's ever had in the past twenty years. He finished off his black coffee, loving the way the thick and bitter liquid mixed somewhat disgustingly with the taste of sweet syrup that was left over in his mouth.

"I'll drop by, I guess. Right now."

Almost robotically, he jumped off of the bed and headed for the bathroom. Itachi bid him a silent goodbye. Sasori was already in the shower when he heard the small click of the door's lock activating. He closed his eyes, trying to imagine how water felt like again. But all he could remember was the feeling of blood everywhere; the warm blood of his victims against his skin and even his own. Back when he was capable of actually bleeding, anyway.

**October 7, 3:58pm – Iwagakure Manor**

After smoothly parking the car in the driveway after having been calmly admitted in by Deidara's guards, Sasori spent several minutes inside, fingers around the steering wheel, eyes staring into the fog. He never composed himself; he was smooth, or so he liked to believe. But he did space out every now and then. Only the sounds of gunfire snapped him from his drifting thoughts.

_Gunfire_? He thought as the sounds registered to him. He immediately thought of the possibility of the mansion under attack at that instant. _But no...that's impossible_. The swamp was like a maze. The fog made it nearly impossible to see anything, and one wrong turn could – and most likely would – cost you your life. The shallow waters were, after all, infested with fat alligators. The thought of Deidara fattening them on purpose to ward off intruders crossed his mind. Even the house helpers seemed anxious when outside and thus the guard post was built. He figured that most of them didn't come home each night and were instead provided rooms inside the sprawling mansion at night.

The shots had settled into a rhythmic pattern, each of them exactly two seconds apart. _Just practice, then._ Sasori concluded. He took his time stepping out of his rented vehicle – Akatsuki's, gifted to him by Itachi to use for the meantime – and sullenly rounded the premises. He was smart enough to strap on some mud-proof boots this time, enjoying the way the soles sunk into the damp dirt as if it were quick sand. Just the thought that it probably _was_ quicksand caused him to pick up his pace.

The humidity was seeping into his skin again and Sasori found himself clinging to his coat. He would have bought a beanie too if it weren't for the fact that his hair had still been wet when he'd gone to the store. The sounds weren't too far off now, but it wasn't until he was less than five feet away from Deidara that he actually recognized him through the fog, now thinning slowly.

He was dressed similarly to Sasori, his boots dirtier, his blonde locks clinging to his face in sweat. He was holding up what Sasori recognized as a single-action revolver characterized by the little hammer Deidara pulled down in-between each heavy shot. It was a classic, that one. Sasori distinctly remembered owning a few of those himself, having been fond of revolvers in a distant time, only this one was a forty-five.

"How's your head, un?" Deidara asked, having noticed Sasori creep up on him earlier.

"It's alright. Slight headache, but what do you expect?" He replied.

Not being able to sleep allotted him with a lot of time to repair all the cuts and bruises the fiasco from the night before had given him. Because Sasori's body was technically dead, 'healing' any injuries required Sasori to grab his handy surgeon's kit and puppet tools and operate on himself. Now he was good as new, repaired by only the best hands – his own.

"Mhm," Deidara said in acknowledgement. He pulled the hammer once last time, but just before he pulled the trigger Sasori beat him to it, having pulled out his own gun from before and shooting the big mossy oak down three times consecutively. Just when Deidara turned his head to Sasori irritably, the older male tossed him the nine. Deidara clumsily caught it with both hands.

"Revolvers aren't very practical for spies." Sasori explained frankly. "Handguns are a lot easier to carry and to wield."

"Hn," Deidara rolled his eyes and shot at the three several more times, each shot fired right after another in quick succession. "What a waste of bullets, un. I could go through hundreds within seconds." Then he glanced at Sasori again. "If I shoot you now, point-blank, on your face, will you die?"

"No."

"What about your forehead, un? If not once, then five times maybe?"

"The number of times you shoot my head won't make a difference." Sasori shrugged. "It'll just make the mess a little bigger and a bit harder to clean up."

"You're kind of immortal then, huh?" Deidara cocked a brow at him. Sasori tried to read his face, but it was perfectly composed. Deidara had apparently been thinking that topic through.

"Not exactly." Deidara frowned at how cryptic Sasori's wording was.

"If I shoot you elsewhere, like say the neck or even the chest, will you die, un?"

"Maybe." He sighed. "Why are you so keen on killing me, anyway?"

Deidara instantly pointed his gun Sasori's way and shot four times. He hadn't expected it, but Sasori was quick. He had already taken out a small knife to deflect the bullets, only they didn't go his way. He looked back to see a big alligator groan as it fell back dead into the water.

"Sorry about that, un." Deidara said, his tone clearly unapologetic. He was more than aware than he had just stomped on Sasori's pride by defending the more experienced man. "I figured being devoured by one of my pets might be enough to kill you if a bullet to the heart would, too."

"I would have handled it myself even if you hadn't intervened." Sasori retorted, noticeably not amused.

Deidara shrugged, feeling the pride well up just as another alligator attempted to get _him_ from behind. He turned around just in time to see the knife land directly in-between its eyes, killing it instantly. When he turned around to look at Sasori, the redheaded man was smirking, revenge executed in the most perfect and sensible way.

"You let your pride get in the way of your senses." Sasori lectured him, a smirk evident on his normally expressionless face. "Keep your guard up always; especially after a kill."

Deidara ignored him, refusing to let Sasori trample his bloated ego. He leaned down to pull the distinctive knife out from the alligator's head and kicked its jaw back into the water. He held it up, examining it under minimal light. The blade was extraordinarily thin but obviously hard nonetheless. The handle was small and wooden, rectangular and plain in shape, but the figure of a scorpion was sculpted into it with obviously skilled hands. The seal was written in a red paint that looked too much like dried blood. _Sasori of the Red Sand_, Deidara read inwardly.

"It's poisoned, un." Deidara stated after seeing the nearly invisible purple liquid drip from the tip of the small weapon. "I don't see why, with such perfect aim, you would need to smear your knives with poison as well."

"Force of habit." Sasori admitted. "You can never be too prepared."

Deidara turned his gaze to him. "If I plunge this blade into your throat, will you die?"

"Stop with those questions, already." Sasori said exasperatedly. "My body's dead, okay? It can't die because it's already dead."

"Well, that makes no sense whatsoever, un." Deidara concluded. He stared into Sasori's eyes for a long moment, trying to decipher his thoughts as the redheaded man had begun spacing out again. He had always thought that the dreamy brown orbs had seemed empty, far-off, barely alive and even a bit lost despite their keenness and pretty shine. "Would you like to come inside?"

The blonde teen seemed not to care about the possibility of being pricked by the knife and dying of an incurable and painful poison as his hands were absent-mindedly playing with the blade. The sight of it was already causing Sasori anxiety.

"That's an idea, isn't it?" Sasori said, eyes still wide and focused on the blade as if staring it down would keep it from killing Deidara, who he was still – technically – supposed to protect.

Deidara feigned a smile as both men took to the back doors. Sasori was trying his hardest to keep his new boots from getting any dirtier; Deidara seemed not to care anymore, having lived with the muck all his life. They kicked the boots off as soon as they reached the marble floor. A passing maid promised to clean them well. The coats were put up on the rack.

Deidara was lounging comfortably and openly on a large sofa chair now, legs apart in a natural way. Sasori was sitting in a very modest and proper way, still like a statue – or a puppet without a master – with the exception of his ever flitting eyes. They took in the lovely detail of the cornices that rimmed the arches and the windows. The furniture was overstuffed, a golden velvet shade. Deidara had already picked up the television remote and turned it on. It was in one of those shows where 'crocodile hunters' were paid to mock the kind of animals instinct told sane humans to run from. Despite their 'professional' sounding title – professional to some, anyway – Sasori had always thought of them as nothing more than suicidal idiots. He was more than sure that the job came with a coffin.

_But you know more than well enough that _your_ job comes with more than just the coffin but the funeral arrangement as well._ Sasori mused bitterly. It was ironic, he thought, how cautious of a man he truly was despite his way of life. But it wasn't the thrill of danger that he sought. He learned a long time ago that those that enjoyed it were those that were killed off first.

"I want to come with you, un."

Sasori's eyes widened in surprise, having been caught completely off-guard. Deidara's face was very serious, eyes avoiding him and on the screen, but something about how he was looking at it made Sasori think that he had actually already tuned the noisy show out.

"She's my cousin, Sasori. I'm obligated to save her." He paused, hesitating first, "I was in the military before. I'm no slouch. I can hold my ground and more, un."

But Sasori was already shaking his head. "Don't say this. Just don't. Not to me." He closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose in frustration. The sound the nasty but honestly entertaining show provided helped direct his attention anywhere but towards Deidara's words.

He should have told Deidara the truth. That he didn't come there to comfort him. He wasn't human that way, he just didn't care about 'feelings' and all of that. He came there because Itachi told him to and because he felt that he might as well tell Deidara that he had already given up on it all. His partaking on the mission had only amused Orochimaru. Things would be harder from then on, definitely. There was no rescue mission. Itachi was probably on his way to tell Onoki at that instant that it was a lost cause and that he should start thinking about the funeral party.

But that wasn't what we told Deidara. Instead, the words he said were, "Akatsuki doesn't normally do rescue missions, Deidara." _Because Akatsuki always does things right. And if they don't, which is a rare occurrence anyhow, it's hopeless._

"But you have to!" The blonde man persisted. For a short moment, his voice drowned everything else.

"How do you know she's not already dead?" It was bitter, pained, and Sasori's eyes were focused on the pretty Persian carpet. He had tons of them back at in Italy, all in different designs and colours, but for some reason, he felt that they were all uniquely beautiful. This one in Deidara's home was no exception.

He expected silence. Deidara should have been quiet, thinking his words through. But no, that's not how it went at all. Sasori was cursing his lazing prediction skills. He distinctly remembered a time when his prediction skills were what made his great.

"Because Itachi told me this morning, un. They took her for hostage. They want the money."

Sasori narrowed his eyes at Deidara. The idea that Itachi told Deidara all of that made him ache a little. "You know, then. Just pay the kidnappers off and have it over and done with. You're wealthy, aren't you? And if you don't want to, that's okay, it's my failure, I can pay them off myself—"

"They're not giving her back, Sasori, un." It was raw emotion that fuelled his words. Deidara was on the verge of tears. "They're only making us pay to keep her alive. But they're not giving her back, no. They said that maybe if we complied for a while, when they're good and happy, they might consider giving her back at an even bigger price, un. But Itachi says that will never happen, even if they had already dried up our piggybanks. They would never stop, un. They'd kill her and then us. And then he said something about disfiguring her, and even torture. Please, Sasori. Let me in. Help me. Get the rescue mission going, un. Itachi said they can only do it if you said yes." He was already slurring his words, having talked way too fast.

"I've been out of commission for five years." Sasori murmured. Deidara was quiet, but he was listening intently. Sasori knew this and continued. "It was my first failure, you know, that killed me. After that I wanted to be perfect in everything. I had to be. And then I failed now again, for the first time in twenty years. I don't think I can do this. I'm not your man, Deidara. Maybe Hidan or Kakuzu will help you. Hell, get Pein to do it himself. He's friends with Onoki, isn't he?"

Deidara shook his head, laughing sadly. "So that's it, un? You're just afraid? Sasori –_ the _Sasori of the Red Sands – is afraid?" Sasori's eyes widened at the mention of his title. Deidara's head snapped to him. "I told you, didn't I? I'm from the military. I heard about you. Sometimes you're an enemy, sometimes you're an ally, but you're extraordinarily powerful and must be avoided at all times." He pulled out the poisoned knife and chuckled. "I remember seeing this same blade on a carcass several years ago. You completely took out my team while I took a very well-timed piss. Didn't take you long, did it, wiping out the best America had to offer? You killed most of them, you know, with only a few needles wasted on each body. They were so expertly thrown. I was wondering why you had decided to use an actual a knife on our leader."

"He was killing Onoki's reputation with his lies back then." Sasori felt obliged to defend himself despite the situation. "But I didn't think you were there, too."

"I know why you did it, un. It was all over the news. And Onoki was absolutely fuming at that guy. When I got assigned to him, I didn't even bother telling Onoki about it before I got dispatched, un." He suddenly grinned a little. "He was shouting at me, you know. He knew I was Onoki's grandson and he loathed me. He was absolutely furious that I so happened to have human needs and lacked a steel bladder, un. But I think that what really ticked him off was that Onoki, who was supposed to be his junior, managed to make it to the top of the ladder while he was stuck babysitting Onoki's thirteen-year-old freak of a grandson."

"You're not a freak." Sasori murmured. Deidara threw his head back slightly and laughed a little.

"I know that, un. But that's what he thought, anyway. That's what everyone thinks." He rubbed circles around his palms.

Something about the small motion caught Sasori's attention. Deidara was wearing fingerless gloves now. He didn't have them on before, but Sasori could vaguely remember seeing a pair on his work table the first time he'd met Deidara. Of course he had taken them off back then; he was working on something. And he didn't exactly have time to slip them back on after Sasori dragged him out of his work and into disaster.

"So...will you do it, un?" The silence was eating him up inside.

"I honestly don't know."

"You're an artist too, aren't you? I could tell from the way you spoke about your art yesterday that you're a passionate one, too, un. You should already know that the most beautiful things come from spontaneity. Doing this now might be frightening you, but it's good to step out of your comfort zone every now and then. There's beauty in that action, I think. And besides, you already failed. It's not like you have anything left to lose, un."

Sasori smirked. "I'll give Itachi a call in the morning." Deidara laughed in relief despite himself. Sasori's eyes darted back to the screen. "Don't you have anything more sensible? Like a video game, perhaps?"

"As a matter of fact, yes. It'll only be a moment, un."

Sasori watched Deidara hop off energetically and busy himself as he rummaged through the nearby cabinets. He was calling out familiar titles to Sasori, asking about which ones he would like to play. Sasori was only half-aware of it all, though. He still couldn't believe that he, a thirty-five year old international spy was going to spend his Saturday playing video games with a teenager he barely knew.

"Oh, well. I might as well enjoy it." He concluded as he picked up a controller, his fingers already familiarizing themselves with the controls.

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><p><strong>AN: It took a while to finish, but it's finally up. Previous chapters was just to get the plot started. There's going to be less action and more actual interaction for a few more chapters until the next disaster. I think that's good considering this is supposed to be one part romance, too.**

**This chapter wasn't a drag, was it? I like it, but I feel that it was more on dialogue/description instead of the action-filled previous chapters. Which do you enjoy more, actual plot action or conversation?**


	5. The Price of Treasure

**[Disclaimer]**

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><p><strong>Chapter Five<strong>

**The Greatest Treasure**

**October 8, 1:27pm – Iwagakure Swamp Mansion**

"_Meet me at the Fat Gator Coffeehouse by 1pm sharp."_

Sasori had so cryptically texted Itachi as soon as his eyes fluttered open. He'd miraculously woken up minutes before noon and had ample time to prepare. To his irritation, Deidara was a heavy sleeper and had little interest in getting there by the decided time. They had been up all night playing the most random games from gory first-person shooters like Call of Duty to classic board games like Monopoly. While Deidara, being more experienced in video games, had been winning the first few rounds, Sasori had almost immediately caught up with him as soon as he got used to the controls. But, for some reason, no matter how much practice and effort Sasori put into his Monopoly business skills, he lost every round.

He cringed. He was supposed to be the one with the flawless prediction skills. Deidara was supposed to be the goof. But he was a ridiculously lucky goof. Sasori was standing in Deidara's balcony now. His eyes were flitting about, having given up on trying to see through the fog and into the small lake behind the ancestral home. Deidara was taking his sweet time showering his long blonde hair.

While waiting was something Sasori normally couldn't stand, the wonderful antiquated feeling that emanated from around him was more than enough to keep him somewhat settled. The walls were filled with layer upon layer of creamy carefully preserved wooden shingles. Separating each story were thick friezes with detailed pictures carved into them by skilful hands.

Deidara's work table had been pushed to the side. It was filled with all kinds of metallic scraps that Sasori couldn't make sense of. He couldn't understand why such a gifted painter would waste their time with ugly, rusted trinkets. But there was something else in there...

"A stuffed bear?" Sasori murmured as he ran his unfeeling fingers over the old and worn toy. It could have been a rich golden brown when it was new. Traces of its former sheen were still visible if one were to look closely. But it was washed too much now and looked more grey than brown. One of its eyes had fallen off. Deidara had tried to replace it with a black button that was only slightly bigger than the original eye. The ribbon around its neck looked new. Buttons of different colours were stitched down its belly.

"His name's Sergeant." Deidara's voice startled Sasori. He turned around to see that Deidara was still dripping wet, wearing only a towel over his lower half. He wasn't particularly burly, though he did have a promising structure. He was lean, though, with every muscle much too visibly sculpted on his skin. Sasori never realized that Deidara had in fact been sporting a nearly permanent tan all that time, most likely from his years in the military.

"A name. Really." Sasori mused.

"Yes, un. And before you ask, no, I don't always sleep with him." He ran his fingers through his soaked hair, glancing to the fog momentarily. Sasori took it as a sign that he was either uncomfortable or hesitating. "Someone gave them to me on my first mission. I was a kid then, seven years old, un." Deidara winced, as if remembering a long-forgotten or suppressed memory.

"And you never got rid of him?"

"How could I, un?" Deidara laughed weakly. "He reminds me of the monster I am."

After a few silent seconds passed between them, Deidara proceeded to hastily dressing himself in white trousers and an olive pullover. He just shoved his fat wallet, his beloved Blackberry and his keys into his pockets and was good to go, a trail of water droplets following him.

**2:12pm – Fat Gator Coffeehouse**

"I'm not convinced." Kisame muttered, eyes narrowing into his closest friend's face. Itachi only smirked at him in that way he always did, the way Kisame had already gotten used to before, the way that he liked it. "That's just not the way he would do things, Itachi."

"So now you claim to understand him perfectly?" Itachi raised an amused brow. If there was anyone – anyone at all – in Akatsuki whose mind operated remotely similar to Sasori's incredibly systematic one, it was Itachi's. No one else could compare.

"He's a book; to be specific, the rule book." Kisame snorted.

"You don't know the rules." Itachi rolled his eyes. "You don't even like to read."

"But you do that enough, you know, for both of us. Sometimes I feel as if I know it all just by looking at you." Kisame shrugged. "You can try as hard as you want, but your eyes will never be the same as his."

Itachi's face remained composed, but Kisame knew he'd gotten to him just by the seemingly insignificant twitch of his fingers. "They're here."

The sound of wind chimes wafted in the air as Sasori pushed the coffeehouse's heavy oak doors open. He had a green scarf on, his favourite one. He always had something on to cover the mark on his neck, even though it went against the weather. He was arguing with Deidara, the two men sneering at each other. But the friction between them was of something else.

They crossed the old wooden parquet floor, Sasori pacing and Deidara seemingly flitting around him as he tried to reason with the stubborn redheaded man. Itachi hid a smile. The place was very nice, very homey. It was an antiquated place with a humble history. He and Kisame were sitting at the very end of the place, his blue-skinned friend leaning back on his chair.

Sasori crossed his arms immediately as he took his seat beside Kisame. Deidara pulled out the one between him and Itachi, attention focused on Sasori still. Whatever they had been arguing about had been dropped the moment Itachi spoke.

"You're late."

Sasori gritted his teeth together. "The brat's fault." It just slipped, but Sasori didn't care anymore even as Itachi raised a brow at mention of the little nickname.

"Still, it's not like you." Itachi shrugged. "So why are we here? It can't be that you only missed me." Sasori rolled his eyes at him.

"You know exactly why, Itachi." He sighed. Then, as if to set the decision on stone, or only because his own ears still refused to believe it, he said it again. "We're going on a rescue operation."

Itachi's smirk was evident. Deidara was watching it all unfold before his eyes. Kisame was already shaking his head.

"You don't mean this." He said.

"We have no choice." Sasori insisted. Kisame squinted at him.

"Who are you?" He asked. The Sasori he knew weighed all options before saying anything. The Sasori he knew always found a way around the obvious 'rescue mission.' This was not the Sasori he knew. "We always have a choice, isn't that what you always said?"

"Not this time, Kisame."

"You're finally acquired a conscience then?" Itachi asked smugly even though he knew very well that he should have never said it given his own personal history. But no one called him on it.

Sasori look to Deidara for a moment before answering. "I don't know."

"Even if we did do this thing," Kisame said loudly and irritably, "Deidara cannot. He doesn't have the training, the experience, or the affinity—"

"Yes I do, un!" Deidara raised his voice, catching the attention of a few other people. But they had better things to do and soon there was not a pair of eyes on them anymore.

"You don't know anything about him." Sasori said very seriously. "He's willing to give his life up for this, not that he has to. Because even if he were not able to keep up with us now, he will be; I will see to it personally."

Still, Kisame was not convinced. But Itachi spoke up before he could say anything else.

"I will inform Pein right away." Itachi did not allow for anyone to go against him now. Sasori's eyes silently thanked him.

"Does this mean—" Deidara's eyes were wide as he spoke, but Sasori was already tugging him up and towards the door.

"Let's go, brat." Sasori said impatiently. "Let Itachi handle Kisame. We have things to do."

"But food, un!" Deidara tried to reason with him, but it was hopeless. Itachi watched them go.

"He'll die." Kisame said as soon as the silence settled. Itachi stirred his coffee and drank the last of it down. It was his second cup now.

"It's just as Sasori said; you don't know him. You cannot say that."

"But I knew Orochimaru." Kisame said sadly.

"As did I." Itachi said in a similar tone. "But Orochimaru is a bad man. Deidara is not. Fate's most likely in Deidara's side."

Kisame chuckled. "Itachi talking fate and goodness; well, this is officially the weirdest dream I've ever had. As if it wasn't odd enough that Sasori was actually late."

Itachi half-smiled. "Just because Sasori hates unpunctual people doesn't mean he isn't one himself at least sometimes. You just never noticed due to the fact that you're sleeping half the time."

"Only in headquarters." Kisame narrowed his eyes at his partner who grinned. He ran his fingers through his hair and laughed a little to ease the tension.

"Kisame?" Itachi said as he placed the cup to his lips.

"What?"

"Table Four. He's all alone." His gaze didn't falter. Kisame tensed.

"I hate snitches."

"As do I, but they make for a convenient past time. And this one's going to lead us to our next step. Don't lose him." Kisame was already on his feet, grinning.

"I don't plan to."

"And Kisame?" Itachi said before he could leave and chase the snitch down.

"What now?

"Clearly, I won the bet. The bill's on you." Itachi smirked as he slid it Kisame's way.

Kisame's grin was lost the very same second.

**6:42pm – Deidara's House**

_Bang. Bang. Bang._

"You missed the last one." Sasori stated flatly. Deidara turned to him, pinching his golden brows together in irritation.

"I'd like to see _you_ get it _all_ right, un."

Sasori raised his own weapon and shot seven small branches consecutively without pause, hitting the mark each time and causing them to fall to the moist ground.

"Show off, un." Deidara muttered.

"Not really. You asked me to do it." Sasori smirked as he pocketed his nine millimetre handgun. "We're getting nowhere at this rate, you know."

"Not even in the military did anyone know how to shoot that good, un." Deidara mumbled. "Except maybe those guys with the rifles, but they took forever and most of them had nearly zero actual combat skills. I have that, so I don't know why we have to bother with this anymore, un."

"Because it only takes one moment, one dastard situation to end a life or a hundred of them," Sasori sighed. "And the enemy knows that just as well as I do. We can't risk leaving even one base uncovered or unprepared."

Deidara shook his head. "Sometimes it's better to live in the moment, you know? Being so meticulously prepared...doesn't that take all the thrill and excitement away from the action?"

"This isn't about fun, brat. It never was."

"But then what is it about to you, un? I know what it is to me, to save my cousin, but to you, what is it? Why do you do this of your own will, why did you choose this as your path, un?"

"Why do you ask these questions?" Sasori narrowed his eyes at the young man before him.

"I'm curious, un. I've always been the questioning type."

"I don't doubt that." He paused. "It's all I've ever known, this lifestyle. For the longest time, it was what had fuelled my art—"

"Only you fuel your art, un." Deidara interjected argumentatively.

"Has anyone ever told you that it's rude to interrupt someone _especially_ when all they're doing is answering your questions?"

"Maybe. I'm not the best listener, un. But I'm not stupid."

"I never said that." Sasori murmured. His eyes trailed off to the dark sky. The fog had lifted more or less now. Deidara had told him earlier that it was to be expected if only because the fog itself was unexpected, whatever that meant. "Perhaps we should rest for a while. Besides, I haven't briefed you in anything at all yet."

"Maybe you're right." Deidara grunted as he trudged back to the manor.

Sasori followed him without another word, his body following the man before him absent-mindedly while his thoughts drifted to the impressive mansion's architecture once more. Traces of Greek Renaissance were evident now from his current point of view. The elaborately sculpted friezes were even prettier now than they were that morning. The house could have been chiselled out of stone; at least, some parts of it.

"You're always staring into space, un." Deidara said as they kicked off their muddy boots and plopped themselves into the living room again, Deidara nearly bouncing off the overstuffed couch and Sasori not even sinking into it fully. "I never pegged you for the type with a short attention span."

"I don't have a short attention span." Sasori said mutely as Deidara flipped through channels, his right hand around the remote control and rested on a throw pillow. "I was just admiring the house."

"But you live in Florence, don't you? You must be surrounded by homes like this every day, un."

"Just because they are abundant in my life doesn't mean that makes them any less beautiful or any less of worth." Sasori shrugged. "They continue to take astound me, each piece that I see, no matter how similar to any others that I've come to love in the past and even in the present. But that's what art is, I guess, something that it timeless and ageless and—"

"Are you seriously bringing that up again, un?" Deidara asked flatly. "I can accept any and all forms of art for as long as it is art, even if it goes directly against my own. But I don't have a large supply of patience. In fact, I run out pretty fast. It's a wonder I haven't bombed you yet, un."

"Just try it." Sasori chuckled. Deidara ignored him.

"Just as much as it is a wonder that I have managed to stay caged within these walls for so long, un," Deidara said mutely.

"What do you mean?"

"As beautiful as this home is, I'm so much more into contemporary architecture, un. It would be a dream to just get the hell out of here and drive to New York or something. I've spent too many years stranded in these murky waters and swimming with these slimy green frogs and my beloved fat alligators."

"Why don't you, then? You have the money." Sasori tried to hide his interest.

Deidara barked out a sarcastic laugh. "Look around you. Onoki's moved to Washington a long time ago in an effort to keep up with politics, un. Kurotsuchi's family did the same, only they've relocated to Nevada instead in hopes of a more exciting and fulfilling life. I'm the last member of the once great Iwagakure family left actually living in the great Iwagakure manor of Iwagakure Bayou, Louisiana." He paused. "I think its history that bounds me to this place. I'm afraid that I may never leave for as long as this place stands, un."

A youthful modernist chained to history's unyielding embrace. It was clear that he wanted out of the very same thing Sasori had spent his life chasing after. The Italian flat was a failed attempt at finding the beautiful olden times, Sasori now realized, at feeling the overwhelming ambience of the Renaissance era's timeless art. The flat's antiquity could never come close to that of Deidara's mansion here.

"I'll buy it from you." Sasori argued now. "I've never felt so at peace anywhere else."

"That's actually tempting, but no." Deidara smiled sadly. "It wouldn't feel right, un. The Iwagakure mansion is an inheritance, not a purchase. If you're not an Iwa, you're never going to get your hands on this place, no matter how much you want it."

Was this fury Sasori felt? The creeping and heavy feeling that now seemed to make his movements hard and weighed down? No, it must have been sadness. Heartbreak. And that made sense, because now only his heart actually remained. But the feeling was still very alien to him.

"It really is tempting, though, to give this place to you, un." Deidara breathed finally, his expression that of worry and something else. "Never had I ever met anyone who I trusted so completely with my home, un. Collectors had asked me for it for the longest time. They like it because it's historical and it's beautiful and because it's mine. But they don't love it and I'm afraid they never could, not in the way you love it now anyway, un. I know you can take care of it better than anyone else, and that would mean the world to me, but...this is my burden, not anyone else's."

"What can I say to you now that may change your mind?" Sasori whispered.

"Don't say anything, un." He looked to Sasori now. The older man couldn't help but notice how moist his eyes were now and how much they twinkled in the light. But the tears were not enough to escape. Perhaps he was fighting them. Perhaps he wasn't. "The paintings, un. The paintings tell you everything. I have to show them to you, un. Come with me."

But Deidara was feeling awfully light-headed and out of balance. He was a compulsive drinker, susceptible to the allure of alcohol and yet so perfectly immune to its effects most of the time. But this feeling he hadn't felt in a while. He grabbed hold of Sasori's shoulder to steady himself momentarily.

"This way, un."

Through the main hall and into another, and across this room and into that they went. They were at the very edge of the house now, facing a heavy set of oak doors that probably led to nowhere. And it was locked, too.

"The key, un..."

Deidara fumbled as he reached down his shirt and pulled out a long chain that he had somehow hidden from Sasori's notice the whole time. There was an old-fashioned key that hung down from it, likely having been crafted of gold. The first time he tried to slide it through the keyhole, he missed and hit the wood instead.

"Shit, un." He cursed under his breath. At that moment Sasori wrapped his own hand around Deidara's to steady it and guided it into the proper place. They turned the key together. A heavy feeling was lifted the moment the click sounded, such a small sound with such a big impact on something neither of them could pinpoint as of yet. "Thanks."

"No problem." Sasori said mutely. He dropped his hand to his sides. He could almost feel the warmth of Deidara's hand there still, as if he himself could still feel.

"Inside, un."

Down a spiralling staircase and into a basement Sasori didn't know was even there they went until finally they came across a metallic set of doors. There was no lock this time, at least not one that required a key to open.

"My greatest treasure, un." Deidara murmured as he threw open the doors to unveil the contents of the large rectangular room.

Was it even possible for Sasori to be breath taken anymore? But it did happen, for the sight of it was certainly breathtaking. The entire collections of everything Deidara had created in all of his eighteen years save for of course what was upstairs, was right there, displayed right before his eyes. And these weren't copies of other great artists, no. These were original works of art, original ideas, original inspirations. And that struck such a chord of epiphany in Sasori that he didn't think he could think anymore. No, thinking was just not an option anymore.

_Feel them, Sasori. Visualize them with your touch._ His heart, which also functioned as his brain, demanded of him. But he was shaking, he, the puppet master, shaking. But he could have sworn, god, he could have sworn, that when his fingers touched the first sculpture before him, the one of Adam and Eve and the snake and the forbidden fruit all intertwined in fate and in body, that he _felt_ the smooth stone tickle his fingers. Not even for just an instant, no. As he continued to run his hands through them, both hands now, feeling the slim leaves and the grapevines and the eyes of the snake and its small sharp fangs, he could _feel_. He was _alive_.

And then Deidara spoke and the moment was broken and he couldn't feel a damn thing again.

"I've never sold a single painting or sculpture, un. Every one of these is mine."

Did he expect an answer? Sasori didn't care. He did the only thing he could. He fell to his knees and wept, but of course, he didn't have any tears left.

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><p><strong>AN: Long wait. Was lazy. But now that I've got this chapter over and done with, we can move on. I was supposed to post a preview of the next chapter here but decided against it. Let's just say that it has something to do with a carnival and Sasori (finally!) and...yeah. As for the high emotional content of this chapter, you can blame it on Anne Rice. I just reread some of her books recently and...it rubbed off on me again. It's a shame she's so against having fanfictions of her own stories here.**

**By the way, I've decided to halve this story in two parts. Part I, which is where we are, will be filled with chapters focusing on Deidara and his past. Part II will be focusing more on Sasori and his past and other deeper, more interesting things. Yes, I've had a lot of plot laid down since the beginning. And most of it will take off there. Like, Akatsuki drama and all that. More Akatsuki appearances next chapter. I'm actually looking forward to writing Hidan and Kakuzu, those jerks (but I love them nevertheless).**


	6. Carnival Madness

**[Disclaimer]**

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><p><strong>Chapter Six<strong>

**Carnival Madness I**

**October 11, 5:27pm – Carnival**

Three days had passed yet neither party spoke of the incident since.

Yet something about that powerful moment had signified a solid change in their standing. They were not yet friends, but they were something completely different and infinitely more profound. It was respect, perhaps, that was gained that fateful night. And while it certainly changed Sasori's perspective of the blonde-haired artist, it did nothing to how he spoke or acted towards him.

But things were different now; circumstances had changed and it had nothing to do with what had happened. It was as if that had been almost forgotten or at least avoided. Still they preoccupied themselves with silent yet oddly fastidious training, neither man knowing when to speak if they ever should, and so they didn't at all. A slight glance of the eyes and a sluggish body gesture was more than enough if at all needed. It was as if they now spoke in a silent and invisible language, one that required no words at all. Deidara wondered as to whether the secret invisible language in itself was a true language known to all. It seemed that way.

But never mind that. Even that had nothing to do with the most recent of their concerns. The concern was that they had been spied on in their meeting with Itachi and Kisame. It was not a dangerous man the enemy had sent, if he had been sent by the enemy's captors at all. This was a lowly man who knew nothing, pocketing only a substantial amount of cash if he would only listen in to the details of what they would talk about at the cafe.

The man had no qualms with telling his new captors everything he knew once he was caught and tied to a heavy chair with Hidan's special chains. He was absolutely terrified of them. It didn't take long for him to completely forget the reason he was there in the first place. In his desperation he began telling them of things that didn't matter, such as his more aggressive friends and the problematic family members he never quite liked. Itachi had half a mind to release him, deeming him of no further use. Hidan, on the other hand, liked his desperation. And so Hidan kept him.

But the man wasn't completely useless. He'd already told them of how he was approached in the first place. He'd been working in Carnival, a popular adult amusement park just north of Deidara's town. He'd been employed for only two weeks when the Ringmaster, an alias of the mysterious owner of the park, approached him. He'd never seen the Ringmaster up close before then. The Ringmaster was famous for only appearing in his special shows and then leaving as if he disappeared into thin air. A masterful magician, they called him, an elegant and secretive trickster.

"Carnival," Sasori repeated, thinking his voice sounded rather incredulous compared to his preferred tone. "What is this, an amusement park?"

"Yes and no," Deidara answered, eyes relentlessly trying to absorb his surroundings. They were scanning all the flashy and colourful neon signs and glimpsing all of the fast-moving rides. "I've heard of this place several times in the past, but I've never actually been here before, un."

"You mean you don't own this place?" Sasori had meant it to be sarcastic, but his tone was flat. Nevertheless, Deidara barked out in laughter. The sentiment made a lot of sense for something that was supposed to be a joke, after all.

"No, I don't, un. Thank god." He wiped the tears in his eyes that had not even formed yet. "I actually have no idea as to who owns this place, un, which is peculiar, but what the hell."

He wasn't about to go into the details of what the place truly was; at least, what little he knew of it from articles and rumours and stories. Nobody would have expected it what from his personality and life story, but Deidara was a good businessman. He was more than the perfect heir for all of their estates and businesses and fortunes save for his alcoholic tendencies. And his family knew it.

Anyway, he could vaguely remember the first signs of Carnival when he was a child. The land had been desolate for the longest time, a prime piece of land what was handed down generation after generation to an unspecified family of bourgeois planters until the family went bankrupt and the land was sold to a man who gambled it one night and lost it to another man who died before building anything upon it and so the curse continued until the land had fallen into the hands of its mysterious owner now who built upon it a unique amusement park of all sorts, the first true structure since the original plantation had withered and rotted away.

The Ringmaster was a famous personality in those parts. His undisclosed identity only roused the crowd's interest in him further. They referred to him as a mad man during his shows, but he was universally respected by the upperclassmen as a cunning businessman who knew how to run a thriving business and a creative genius who knew of man's innermost desires and exploited them to benefit only himself in the end.

Or as they say in their dealings, it was all just business. The same was also said to the men and women who had lost their children during various occasions, most especially during the special festivals that were held within the park. Those stories had frequented the local papers at first, but then it became common knowledge not to bring little children there lest they be lost in the sea of multitudes, and people in general began to stop caring. It wasn't like the court could touch the Ringmaster. He was nearly invincible at court, very nearly above law itself.

But time should be taken to explain the very nature of this distinctive establishment. Carnival was famous for their satirical theatres, their frightening roller coasters and their special way of bringing out one's worst fears and guiltiest pleasures. From within it seemed almost like a sprawling metropolis where all of the most sinful people gathered. From outside it seemed like a powerful fortress that beckoned to anyone who dared pass.

People did not come here to realize their fears or to overcome them. They came here to indulge in them, to find enjoyment and pleasure in those they despise and continue to despise. They came here to satisfy their anger and to multiply it. They came here to laugh at another's expense and to destroy anything they had once held sacred. The people here were superficial and cared only for the pleasure of the now, disregarding anything else. This was a place with no morals and no belief. This was a place where civilization crumbled and culture was scorned.

But it was a beautiful place nevertheless. As soon as Deidara and Sasori were admitted into its proud streets, they were thrust into one of the most crowded areas and crushed by the fast-moving people all around them. Dozens of waiters and waitresses were roaming around offering drinks to anyone and everyone.

"Care for some refreshments?" A woman cooed to Sasori's ear.

"Have a drink, boy!" A man laughed sinisterly as he shoved a small bottle of liquor against Deidara's chest. They were dressed in the festive and dark costume that was required of them. Their faces were heavy with paint and their tones shrill and manic. It seemed every one of them appeared rather insane. They had purple feathers glued to their skin and golden glitter sprinkled over them; even their hair was powdered with it as if the large and heavy-looking headdresses were not enough. Masks were everywhere. It was as if they were attending a mad masquerade.

"Right, un." Deidara grunted as he took the bottle offered to him and to Sasori. He stuffed the money between the woman's breasts. She seemed pleased at the gesture. Sasori winced as she laughed again; Deidara, however, seemed not to notice as his eyes were glued to their destination. He put his arm around Sasori's thin one and pulled hard in an effort to keep the redheaded man from getting lost. "Let's go, un. Come on."

They pressed against the crowd, Deidara's grip on Sasori hardening. Sasori was feeling awfully claustrophobic. Dizziness was a rare thing to him, but it was evident then. It was all he could think about if he could think at all. It drowned the crowd's cheers and laughter and the music that pounded all around and beneath them as if it came from the very ground, causing it to throb. His footing was unsteady. He focused on the sounds of his own heartbeat that echoed in his head now. He could even will himself to hear the sloshing of the blood within the very valves of his heart container.

It seemed an eternity passed before they had finally gotten out of the horrid nightmare, Deidara leading the way. Sasori found himself collapsing on the luxurious and overstuffed red velvet sofa within the theatre's lobby. They were on the far corner now where only those who came to retire to the soft sofas came. They were invisible to everyone else.

He still couldn't fathom how Deidara had managed to keep a level-headed mind throughout that entire rampage. But it had always been Deidara's world, this lifestyle of endless pleasure and entertainment. Sasori thought that he fancied places like that often.

Deidara was sitting across him now, merely two or three feet separating them. He was drinking down the bottle he'd purchased in the streets, very nearly moaning in satisfaction when the golden liquid hit his thirsting tongue. He was offering Sasori the second bottle.

"You drink, don't you, un?" Deidara asked after noticing that Sasori had not even moved to accept the offering.

"My head is in enough pain." Sasori sighed. "I don't think I can take it right now."

"Not even just one?"

"I don't have your tolerance."

"I guess. Suit yourself, un."

Deidara had not even bothered to finish his own bottle, small as it were. Sasori's ringtone was something he'd already come to grow accustomed to. And so when the familiar tone started up, Deidara only leaned back on his chair and relaxed as Sasori answered it.

"Yes...? I see..."

Deidara was mentally debating as to whether he should take Sasori then and leave. He knew that Carnival was the ultimate poison to any and every artist. It destroyed the purity and goodness in inspiration by disguising evil as something greater than it in its place. If there was a Hell, this was it. Here the fires were eternal, burning bright and hotter and angrier than any other flame. And the people would come here to bathe in that fire while being served every pleasure they've ever known to them in such an abundance it would disguise the fire itself. But that did not tame the fire at all.

He'd long ago realized that a counter was not a solution. That ignoring your problems was not the same as solving them. And that usually, when the counter finally wore off, and they always did, that treacherous lot, the problem was worse than before. And that was exactly what this place was, the ultimate counter, the place where you can come to ignore reality only to have it hurled down at you like a ton of bricks the moment you walk out. And so some people didn't.

"Itachi told me that we ought to go inside the theatre now." Sasori's quick voice cut through Deidara's rampant thoughts. "Hidan caused...well, point is, they're going to be late. They won't make it to this show most likely; not from the beginning, anyway."

It was as if fate truly despised him that day. Deidara only numbly complied. His body automatically and absent-mindedly followed Sasori to the theatre's doors, eyes straying to the sign that read 'The Ringmaster Special.' Itachi had magically acquired tickets for all of them only that morning. This was the Ringmaster's own special show that was held once a day at most in this special theatre and in no other. And they had to see him, even if he were all covered up in his heavy make-up and mask and costume. At least, Sasori claimed that he did for whatever reason.

They were admitted into one of the large double doors located at the very centre of the wide lobby. Deidara's initial thought at seeing the inside of the theatre was that it was not a theatre at all as much as it was a crescent-shaped arena of sorts. There was no stage there so much as there was an open ground where one had much room to perform whatever they wished to.

The very back seats had been elevated in that familiar way they always were in large arenas such as that one. There were four entrances into the open ground, all of them opposite of each other. Deidara figured the performers would enter through at least one of them. This time it was Sasori who had found their seats. It was maybe twenty feet from the first row, but it was by no means even close to the last row. The audience was filled almost immediately.

The wait was dreadful. Sasori had been rather anxious and excited though his face remained devoid of any expression save for his wide and restless eyes that were plastered to where the Ringmaster would go even before he was there. Deidara was helping himself to the snacks that were offered to him. He'd gone to the bathroom at least twice, having hydrated himself while waiting. Yet each time he came back to his seat, Sasori had not seemed to have moved even a muscle. And then finally, it began.

The lights were not dimmed. They were shut off completely. There was no trace of the evening light penetrating the dome. There was no trace of time at all. The crowd's noise had turned into a hum of animated whispers and murmuring. But even this was stopped silent as soon as the first spotlight was lighted and pointed to the very middle of the stage where the Ringmaster appeared in all of his dark-clad and magnificently evil glory.

But his head was bowed at first, and neither Sasori nor Deidara could see a trace of his face through the top hat that covered it. Then gradually he lifted it only to show that he was wearing a large and unsightly snake's mask. He removed the hat to reveal that the snake mask was covering his entire head, hiding any trace of his hair. Even his eyes could not be seen through the holes that were not there.

And then, as if an answer to Sasori's prayer, the Ringmaster put his fingers to his neck and ripped the mask off. His hair flew out in a daze and landed magnificently back over his shoulders as if settling after the brilliant explosion of its black strands.

"Ladies and gentlemen," He started, his voice deep and fluid and tinged with a snake's hiss, "I welcome you to my house of mysteries."

Sasori's hands were clenched into tight balls. His posture was very rigid and he was leaning as far as he could towards the stage. His eyes appeared like glass. To anyone he could have just been an eager fanatic, but to Deidara it seemed that he was distressed and maybe a little angry. And while he appeared as if he was taking in every single one of the Ringmaster's words to his heart and soul, as if this performance meant everything to him, every word and every syllable was actually passing through him as though he were not even there. He was focused not on the words or the performance; he was focused on the man that called himself a ringmaster. He was focused on his old partner Orochimaru's face, exposed for the world to see and not to believe.

Because how were the audience supposed to know that the pasty white skin of his was not just an overuse of powder? Or that his long silken black hair was not a wig? Or that those bright yellow eyes of his were not tainted with contacts? How were they supposed to know that the Ringmaster's true form was that frightening and eerie creature before them now?

And how were they supposed to know that those chills they felt when he spoke was not the coldness of the place but their own bodies warning them that the man before them was nothing but danger? _Danger, danger, danger..._ and yet not one soul would move from their seats or even turn their heads away from the face of death.

But when he looked to Orochimaru's sly eyes he knew that they were looking back up at him. And the sinister grin that formed was there to taunt him even further. For in that face he remembered not their years together but their last day. And flashes of his own friends holding Orochimaru down and Pein ready to kill him came rushing back to him. Outmost betrayal fuelled his spite and hatred and his spite and hatred fuelled his passion which in turn fuelled his art.

These were the blackest and most evil of emotions. These were everything Sasori knew and had come to embrace. And maybe Orochimaru had summoned some performers with him. Sasori could vaguely remember the roar of a lion imprisoned in captivity and the hiss of a thousand snakes and the cries of an innocent woman devoured. But he did not take his eyes off those eyes or that mouth and he felt as if they did not either. This was his show and it was only he and his old partner here.

And then it was done. Orochimaru was retreating to one of the doors now and another host was entering, readying his performance. But this barely registered to Sasori as he made his way down the stairs, desperately trying to get closer and not to lose sight of Orochimaru.

Deidara must have been yelling at him to come back and sit down. But he could barely hear the blonde man's screaming through his own mental anguish.

"I'm going to need a volunteer." The new host said. He was dressed in a magician's classic costume, looking closer to tradition than any of the others who worked in the park. It was no surprise that his gaze fell to Sasori, the red-headed man who was frantically working his way to him. He had a magician's stick on his hand and as soon as Sasori jumped over the rail that divided the first row of people and the stage, the magician had it pointed to Sasori's chest. "What about you? You're an excited one, are you not?"

"I'm not interested. If you would excuse me..." Sasori tried to move past him, but his attempts were in vain as the magician blocked his path.

"Come here, lad. It will be fun. Fun as those 'bad' shows we all used to enjoy as children despite our horrid parents keeping us from them as much as possible." The magician's voice was manic like the others. Sasori narrowed his eyes at his for one moment, showing only a flash of annoyance at the magician's description of 'horrid parents.'

"I'm an orphan." He said, his face blank now, colder than ever.

"Oh—"

The very second the magician's grip on his shoulder loosened in his surprise, Sasori took off, hot on Orochimaru's trail.

"You can't go in there—" The host tried to shout, but his voice was shaky. Deidara shot past him. "Or you!" But it was futile. The host allegedly shook his head and resumed the show, assuming that security would take care of the trespassers.

Sasori was getting ever distant from Deidara, but the ringing of his phone continued to be heard. Sasori, however, was focused solely on the fleeing figure of who he believed to be Orochimaru under the black cape. A couple of guards appeared before him. He very narrowly dispatched them both with only the smallest hint of slowing down. And once they were down, he was back to top speed. Once Sasori's phone stopped ringing, the caller giving up on him, it was Deidara's turn to answer it.

"Tell me Sasori isn't chasing him down already. He's not answering—" Itachi said, though his tone sounded defeated.

"Are you psychic, un? We should have strapped him to the chair or something. Where are Hidan's chains when you need them?" Deidara scoffed. While his legs were far from tired, he was. He slipped past the burly guards who had only just recovered from Sasori's attack. "Why didn't any of you tell me he was this fast, un?"

"He's mechanical." Itachi said bitterly. "Where are you? We're coming in. We have to get to Sasori before he does anything stupid."

"Outside the theatre. Somewhere there, anyway, un."

Deidara had already followed Sasori out of the theatre, but as he ducked down one last curtain he was torn between two paths with no trace of Sasori on either one of them.

"Shit, un."

**Elsewhere...**

"Park, Hidan. Fast. It's begun." Itachi ordered firmly.

"I don't know if you've noticed yet, _Mr._ Uchiha," Hidan stressed the _Mr._ "but we're kind of stuck in fucking traffic right now." He replied sarcastically.

"And if I hadn't had to pick you up going here I wouldn't be." Itachi replied nonchalantly. "So clearly, this is your fault."

"_Traffic is my fault?_" Hidan repeated, teeth grinded together. "You know what? Let's go in. I don't fucking care anymore." He suddenly took a violent swerve to the right, veering off the line and running over one of the fences that separate Carnival from the road. They had fortunately ended up in a sparse area with little people, but the small crowd that were there immediately parted in fear of being run over. Screams rose.

"Hidan, what the hell?" Kisame reprimanded, still trying to find his voice. "The cops will get here before we get him."

"If we die now, it's your fault for letting him drive in the first place, you know that?" Kakuzu muttered either to Itachi or to Kisame but to neither in particular. "I'm going to say a prayer for Kisame's car now. Hopefully it doesn't get too damaged that it can't be sold when we crash and die."

"Kakuzu, you've never had a lack for money. Why the interest in it?" Kisame asked suddenly, momentarily distracted from the dangerous driving.

"Don't pretend to care, Kisame." Itachi said.

"Money rules the world." Kakuzu grumbled, catching Itachi's comment.

"Brakes!" Kisame suddenly lurched forward from the backseat and shouted at Hidan, confusing the silver-haired man. Kisame was focused on the man in the middle of the road who did not run to the sides with the rest of the crowd and was instead standing right in their way as if he were planning to die that day. Luckily, even in his confusion, Hidan managed to step hard on the brakes as he cursed Kisame for startling him like that.

You see it often in movies, that when somebody is about to run another other, they'd hit the brakes and the car would stop an inch before the person, leaving them unscathed but only narrowly avoiding either serious injury or death. That doesn't really happen in real life. And it didn't happen here.

And when the blonde-haired man turned, and Itachi and Kisame identified him to be Deidara, they only felt worse. Kisame was about to turn the wheel, never minding crashing into a wall. But it was too late. And yet the expected impact never came.

Deidara had jumped up just in time, avoiding collision and injury, and landing safely on the car's windshield. Even before the car had come to a complete stop, Deidara was already tapping on Hidan's window, gesturing for them to open the car door. He said some other things, but his voice was muffled by the glass.

"Get rid of his licence, un." Deidara said to them as he swung his body inside, pushing Hidan to a different seat. Hidan was protesting but Kakuzu gagged him with his own fist.

"Where'd you learn to do that?" Kisame asked, sitting back properly at the back seat.

"Movies, un." Deidara answered absent-mindedly as he fumbled with the car's buttons. "Pretty cool car." He remarked as he stepped on the pedal. "Hang on, un." But they had already accelerated to terrifying speeds.

**Carnival**

_Take a turn here, another one there, and now he's going straight ahead..._

It took longer than he would have hoped but Sasori had finally cornered Orochimaru. He could already smell Orochimaru's faint yet disturbingly familiar scent soothing him.

"Game over, Orochimaru," He managed a somewhat cold voice. It was trembling, though, a sign that he was more than terrified even if he didn't believe for one second that he could be. "You die here." He was already ready to plunge the poison-tipped hose, not sharp at all by the way, into his former comrade when the hooded figure yelled, "Wait!"

And he did stop, not because he was told to but because the voice that came from the figure was not Orochimaru's.

"It's me, Sasori." The man pulled the hood down and peeled off a mask to reveal a different face. The black wig came off easily to reveal long grey hair in its place. The face was still covered in white scales, but Sasori figured it was just leftover make-up.

"Kabuto." Sasori narrowed his eyes. He felt a tinge of disappointment well up in him, but another one was there, too, one he should have expected: relief. Relief that he would not die that day? _No, it couldn't be...I have no regards for my own life. But then..._ He shook his head, refusing to go down that road. He could not afford to think of such things just then or at all. Suddenly, he was on high alert. The sounds of risky driving were closing down on them. He looked once more to Kabuto to see that he, too, could hear it. "Get out of here. Fast." Sasori hissed.

Kabuto's body was arched, ready to sprint and leave, but his face continued to look to Sasori. "I assume you still haven't told them, then?"

"No." Sasori furrowed his dainty little eyebrows. "Go!" He very nearly roared.

Kabuto might have chuckled as he disappeared. Whatever sound he made was drowned by the sound of the car that barely stopped before it hit him. Deidara was the first to step out and barrage him with questions. Sasori recovered from his daze a little too late.

"What the hell was that about, un?" Deidara asked, sounding rather irritated and perfectly like himself.

"It wasn't him." Sasori stated flatly. "It was a hoax. I let him go as soon as I realized it."

"Well, damn." Hidan said petulantly. He was still peeved from the events in the car and before it. "All that for what? Fucking nothing. We might as well hang around and enjoy the fucking place. I think I saw a bar or two that we haven't crashed into yet."

"Don't you dare—" Kakuzu warned, his voice much like poison.

"I'll watch him." Kisame volunteered, sounding just as disappointed and exhausted as the others. "We'll go see a show or something. Maybe drink a few beers. No trouble."

Deidara had been watching them quietly. "It might be a good idea to go, too, un. You don't look too good." He said to Sasori.

Sasori's eyes met his for a second. His lips pressed together. "Alright." He sighed, defeated. He turned to Itachi and Kakuzu. "And you two?"

"We'll try to get the car out with as little trouble as possible." Itachi said.

A slight glance towards the vehicle explained much of their recent adventures. Sasori would have shook his head if it had been appropriate for the moment.

"Did you guys let Hidan drive again?"

"He's our fastest driver." Kisame answered defensively.

"And now you have a firsthand account of how and why." Sasori said nonchalantly. A small crowd was already forming around them, leaving Kakuzu and Itachi with their work cut out for them.

**7:47pm**

It was a tough and gruelling yet repetitive process, but Itachi and Kakuzu were used to it. There had been an inside joke between them years before, something about how they were Akatsuki's 'cleaning ladies' since their jobs were to figuratively and literally 'clean up' after the other member's messes.

The crowd had dispersed and the car removed. Hidan, Kisame, Deidara and Sasori had been off watching a show and were expecting Kakuzu and Itachi to join them as soon as they were done.

"They're waiting for us, Itachi." Kakuzu called after him. But Itachi was simply not done yet; at least, he didn't feel that he was. He was walking around that alley, his eyes scanning everything, as if by doing so the unsettling feeling in him would go away.

He'd seen the cloaked man leave when the others didn't. His eyes were more powerful. Sasori had let him go, true, but the speed of the man's escape was beyond normal. And where did he go off to? There was no escape route in this place. This was a simple alley and he was cornered. And yet he disappeared into the darkness like a shadow returning to its root.

Itachi, being Itachi, always thought things through and through. And it was a curse for with that came his rather pessimistic view on life. It was always the worst-case scenario that he couldn't help but believe in. His mind was convinced that Sasori had lied to them, betrayed them, following in the footsteps of his master. But his heart believed in their friendship, as cliché as that phrase went. He had never trusted Orochimaru, never even liked him. But Sasori was like a brother to him.

And so he decided to let it go. His mind's accusations had gotten him in trouble enough in the past, very nearly destroying his friendship with Kisame and very nearly completely destroying his family, save his brother. Maybe sometimes instinct was to be ignored. Itachi walked to Kakuzu with a heavy but accepting heart, ready to join the rest of his friends at one of the smaller theatres in the park. And then he found it. The evidence his mind had frantically tried to warn him about.

It was a little paper, folded carefully and perfectly, left in the floor covered by the shadow of a crate. He felt that he knew what it was even before he picked it up; but even so, as his eyes scanned the contents of it, he felt his heart broken, betrayed. He wanted to crush the paper with his bare hands, make it disappear, as if doing so would undo what had been done. But he did nothing to it, not even crumple its corners or further crease its folds.

"It wasn't a hoax." Itachi said, his voice sad despite of himself. Kakuzu knew better than to ask questions. He was informed well enough to recognize what the paper was. And while he would have doubted Sasori's ability to commit treason against them, Itachi's confirmation was proof enough of anything.

"But why did he let him go?" He asked, immediately regretting it. He knew. They all did.

"I don't know. Maybe Pein was wrong. Maybe Sasori wasn't ready for this." Anguish. Anguish behind the cold mask and the impassive facade.

"You don't trust him?"

"Not in this state, no, unfortunately." He sighed.

* * *

><p><strong>AN: Another halved chapter. It reached over five thousand words so I decided to cut it into two and update earlier. I wasn't even able to squeeze in any of the scenes I originally intended to...damn. I think now that we're over and done with the introduction chapters, things will get more interesting. When I'd planned this story out, I'd intended it to be an adventure over the world. Six chapters and we're still in the same country, though...that's slow. Time to liven things up a bit, don't you think?**

**By the way...the title doesn't really make sense up to this point. It was actually named after a one shot I wrote (but never posted) of Sasori and Deidara months ago. I'll cross my fingers and hope it makes it to the next chapter, if only to make the title make some sense. **


	7. The Dirty Game

**[Disclaimer]**

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter Seven<strong>

**The Dirty Game**

**October 11, 7:58pm – Carnival**

When Kakuzu and Itachi finally caught up with the others, it was in a small theatre specializing in satirical plays and parodies. They doubted that anyone in their group was fond of such things, and so the main reason to go there was probably for the ambience; rather, the lack of distractions and other exhausting things. They'd had enough of that for one day.

Itachi had instantly recognized it as the last act of The Pirates of Penzance when he'd come to. This was a visibly altered version of the classic play, though, and not a pleasing one at that. The fan in him automatically disliked it and wished to strangle the necks of the proud and irritating performers.

The theatre itself stank of liquor, and though the horrid scent of it stained their seats, they were all – with the exception of Hidan – more or less liquor stink-free. Hidan was half-asleep and snoring, never having been one for the arts. Kisame was engaged in conversation with Deidara while Sasori only dully half-listened to them, eyes on the stage but looking through it.

Sasori had only glanced at Itachi and Kakuzu as they made their way into their little group. Itachi, who always greeted him and always tried to suck him into a conversation he would otherwise choose to avoid, was avoiding him. The distance was rather obvious and it made solid some invisible wall between them that Sasori had only just noticed. Kakuzu, on the other hand, seemed completely normal; rather, as normal as Kakuzu could ever be normal.

The curtains closed and the show was over. The transition was quick, however, and soon the heavy red curtains were drawn back again to reveal another play no one in the group had ever watched or heard of before. The narrator's appearance bore a remarkable similarity to the Ringmaster, but then again that could have simply been the prescribed uniform or such for their similar roles.

"Just your average ten-year-old murderous kid with a kitchen knife," The narrator seemed to sing aloud, his mouth curled into a devilish grin. "With scatter-brained parents who just _don't_ understand," The scene unfolded, revealing to the eyes just what he had said. "They told him to clean his room and mow the lawn, they told him to do all the mundane things _they_ should have done." The crowd laughed as the performers made fools of themselves, tripping on each other's left feet and falling into a face full of apple pie. And that's how it went for a while, with the parents harassing the child and adding to the ever-growing hate they shared. "Until one night when he couldn't take it no more, when he decided the stupidity must stop now if at all, he took the knife from under the bed and plunged it into his parent's chests, one after the other." And the bodies screamed even after the knife had torn their hearts into pieces, their sight going dim only after they'd seen their son's bloodstained grinning face and the kitchen knife he held sluggishly with both hands. Sasori had turned away.

"Serves them right, un." Deidara stated bitterly. At this Sasori had left, refusing to so much as glance at him. "What did I say?" Deidara asked himself aloud after realizing Sasori was pissed because of him. He might not have been the most sensitive person he knew, but he wasn't above this.

"Sasori was orphaned as a kid." Kisame said, shrugging sadly. "It may have been decades ago, but I don't think he ever got over it."

"He did say that yesterday, un. But I thought it was just an excuse..."

"Sasori never lies, Deidara. Ever." Kisame sighed.

Deidara turned to the stage once more, hearing the laughter again, and pressed his lips together in a firm line. All he'd ever felt for his parents was spite; even after they had gone away, he had never missed them—or so he thought. He had Onoki and Kurotsuchi as his replacement family, after all. His eyes softened as he stood up to go after Sasori awkwardly, not bothering to excuse himself.

Outside, the theatre's streets had been even more crowded than they were during the day. Deidara desperately pushed past the bodies, seeking the overwhelming silence and white light of the moon. And he did find it eventually together with Sasori. Under this light, the moon's reflected light, everything was in black and white and various shades of grey. It was as if colour itself had been drained from the world. Or that the moment had been straight from an old silent movie without colour. Because that's how it felt like to him: silent and colourless. But to the point: Sasori was cradling himself at the edge of a hill away from the noise. There was nothing but plains here, and maybe swamps if someone were to go deeper into it. And away from Carnival's bright lights, the stars were clear and apparent.

Sasori had never looked younger to Deidara than he did now. It wasn't that he looked younger, either, so much as it was that he looked...inhuman. Like a little porcelain doll or a well-crafted human puppet. His skin was too smooth, free of any and all blemishes, and his eyes too blank and lifeless. The thought that maybe that's how Sasori's seen himself all those years occurred to Deidara, but he pushed it away almost immediately. He seated himself beside the redheaded boy. While he wasn't acknowledged, at least he wasn't pushed away. Deidara smiled a little, allowing himself to have that one small comfort.

"Kisame told me you lost your parents as a kid, un." Deidara said now, trying to be careful yet appearing reckless once again. "I don't know whether I should count you lucky or unlucky for it." He looked down to the grass and chuckled. "I've always hated my parents, un. They never loved me, so I never saw a reason to love them. If anything, they held me back from what I could—what I should have been. They were stupid and neglectful, and I still remember that day I broke my arm as a kid, un. My mother didn't even bring up the idea to bring me to a hospital. My father didn't even glance at me. I should have felt alone. But I was angry at them, I was, un. Even still, I can't imagine never having them. I don't love them, though. It's always kid of irritated me, how I can feel such conflicting emotions towards someone, un." Deidara's fingers reached over to Sasori's now in mixed sincerity and curiosity. Sasori said nothing, and Deidara may have only imagined it, but his eyes seemed to glitter. It made Deidara smile to think that he had warmed Sasori even just a little. "Even if you did turn out to become this, a killer, that doesn't mean you have to be a heartless son. It's okay to miss people, un, no matter what your occupation is."

Sasori raised his head now and turned to look Deidara, meeting him eye to eye. He opened his mouth as if he were going to say something, but was soon interrupted by Hidan's cussing as he was thrown out of the theatre.

"We should go." Sasori said now, already standing up. His speed caused Deidara to get a little dizzy as he tried to follow in suit.

"Okay, un. I guess."

Deidara followed closely behind him, smiling as he stared at the back of Sasori's head, thinking that even if Sasori would never admit it afterwards, they had a moment there, something that was far deeper and more meaningful than any other moment he could remember. And that made his feel very light for a short while; at least, until the familiar faces and voices of Kakuzu and Hidan appeared.

"We were all kicked out because of you! You're a waste of money, you know that?" Kakuzu shouted at Hidan who refused to listen.

"The show was fucking free!" Hidan yelled back.

Deidara sighed, smiling. He looked down to check the time and, deciding that it wasn't _too_ late yet, that he was feeling a little mischievous for the moment and that he would take Sasori with him this time...just for a little 'fun.'

**10:12pm – Deidara's Mansion**

"We just got back." Sasori quipped. "I'm tired and I want to go to sleep. I haven't been this tired in ages and sleep has not been this tempting to me ever."

Somewhere along the way, both men opted for the original arrangement; for Sasori to stay at Deidara's own house. That way, it was easier to 'protect' Deidara, not that he needed it. Deidara's reason for it was convenience; Sasori's real reason for it was just because he liked the house a lot. And now they had just finished taking the last of Sasori's things – things he had only recently bought from a store nearby – from the hotel and into one of the guestrooms.

And now, just when Sasori was finally ready to retire to the comfort of Deidara's guest bed, as wonderfully overstuffed as everything else, and full of feathers, Deidara was asking – no, demanding – that he would come with the noisy blonde to some unknown bar at the most dangerous side of town.

"You really are older than you look, un." Deidara was whining now. "It's just a little fun. It's not like you haven't done this before."

"Not outside of work, no. And never out of my own free will." Sasori gritted his teeth. Free will? Since when?

"Then this will be a learning experience. You can be my wingman, un."

"What part of 'no' do you not get, brat?"

"Every letter of the word, un. Now get up and go hunting with me. When was the last time you got laid, anyway, un? Doesn't seem to be recently..."

Sasori turned away, red-faced and suddenly touchy. This was a sensitive topic with him sometimes. Deidara cocked his head to the side first in wonder before the pieces clicked together.

"You're a..." Deidara was open-mouthed in surprise now. "What the fuck, un."

"It's not like I can do it even if I wanted to." Sasori sighed, recovering slowly. "This body doesn't feel pain—rather, it doesn't feel anything at all. It's a puppet body." But nothing he said changed the blonde man's expression, who looked dazed as his lips curled into a mischievous grin. And then Deidara stopped grinning and he let out one long sigh.

"Dealing with you stresses me out, un. I better take a shower. But think about it, okay, un?"

Sasori refused to look at Deidara even as he left the room. He had unknowingly held his breath until he heard the little click of the doorknob as it closed. He closed his eyes for a moment, allowing himself that much solace.

_He doesn't shower long. He'll be out soon. Why am I actually thinking this over? My mind is a mess. I better...do something._

He looked around the room for the umpteenth time that hour and sighed. He felt very stupid for even thinking that anything interesting would surface in there out of nowhere suddenly. The idea of going through Deidara's things instead while he was busy was tempting. And before he knew it, he was headed to Deidara's room.

The paintings were gone, every single one of them. Deidara must have taken them all to the cellar at some point. And, for what seemed like the first time, he could see the walls of the room. They were a soft cream colour, stained with paint splatters every now and then. He was being very quiet without realizing it, walking on tiptoe and very slowly. Maybe it was because he didn't want to alert Deidara. But that was a foolish thought. The shower water was very loud and it would have drowned any other sound.

Without the paintings distracting him, he could see that Deidara's room was very plain. It was so plain in fact that even the worn bear Sergeant seemed to stand out. Sasori couldn't remember walking to it if he tried, but it was in his hands now. And he ran his fingers through the felt once more, imagining how it would be like to feel something so soft.

"Either you've grown to like Sergeant or you're a pervert. Which is it? I doubt it's the former option, un." Deidara's voice seemed all too loud, causing Sasori to whip his head to Deidara's direction so fast it must have broken a muscle in his neck. He was feeling ashamed of himself for not noticing Deidara sneaking up on him, or the shower being turned off. He must have been really absorbed in the ugly toy. He had half a mind to drop it and pretend he did not know the thing.

"Did you purposely throw in just that towel in front of me?" Sasori tried to change the subject. He stared coldly at Deidara now, who was soaking wet and wearing only a damp towel around his hips. It looked as if it could fall at any given moment. Deidara snorted.

"If not my fault you can't keep your eyes off the naked body of another man, un."

Sasori rolled his eyes, tucking the bear back where he found it. "You're wearing a towel. Technically, you're not naked."

"You know what, forget it, you're impossible." Deidara said as he looked at Sasori incredulously, as if he had said something ridiculous. He went over to the dresser, shifting through his clothes for something decent to wear. And then suddenly, he felt something pressed against the skin of his back. "What are you doing, un?"

"Maybe you're right." Sasori murmured. "I lost my humanity at such a young age. I never knew how it felt like." Deidara rolled his eyes and turned to face him, slapping his hand away.

"I'm not gay, un." He said as she shoved Sasori away and fished out some clothes, sloppily putting them on as if nothing had happened.

"Are you freaked out at all that I did that?" Sasori raised a brow in inquiry and interest.

"I always knew you were a creep, un." Deidara answered bluntly. For some strange reason, Sasori was not offended. It amused him that it did not. "If you want to play, then come with me. Won't you trust me even just this once, un?"

"No."

"Okay, don't trust me, that's perfectly fine. Just come anyway."

Sasori stared him down for a long moment, contemplating. And then he sighed.

**10:47pm**

"So here's what's going to happen..."

Contrary to Deidara's initial invite, the bar he'd chosen was sleeker than most. There was a substantial amount of people here now, and many of them had greeted Deidara as if he were a regular. And, Sasori thought as he rolled his eyes inwardly, he probably was.

They were seated in a quiet corner that gave them a nice view of the rest of the place. Deidara ordered two martinis, one the waitress gave to Deidara and the other to Sasori.

"I don't want that."

"They're both mine, then, un." Deidara gulped one down as if it were water. "Look around you and find someone you like." Sasori's eyes were quick to survey and quick to leave. "Don't be picky; it's not like you're gonna marry them or anything. Chances are, you'll ever even see them again, un."

"And if I accidentally grab one of the enemy's underlings who tries to kill us?"

Deidara rolled his eyes. "Do you not have any trust in my abilities, un? Don't answer that. Try to get someone with nice stilettos. Those things give me fond memories."

"You mean the knife?" Sasori asked sardonically, eyes plastered on the last martini.

"No, I mean the shoes. But they might as well be a knife. I had a girl try to kill me with that once when I tried to break up with her. Not nearly as effective as a real stiletto blade, but it's quite painful, not that I cared, un."

"What about that one, then?" Sasori pointed his gaze to a thin girl with black hair.

"Too trashy, un." Deidara shivered.

"Who's being picky now? Did you just call her garbage?"

"She's a whore." Deidara shrugged. "You can tell that she hadn't even showered or redone her make-up since her last fuck. Her last guy probably did her about an hour ago and left her here to find another ride home. I don't like fucking a girl and smelling the scent of ten other men in her underwear."

"And those two?" Sasori looked over to two pretty and decent-looking girls now.

"Great choice." Deidara grinned. "Perfect, un. Follow my lead and try not to be too awkward." He gulped down the last martini and stood up suddenly, Sasori following closely behind him. Deidara was obviously having a bit of fun trying to disguise his wobbling steps despite not even being close to drunk yet.

"You're going to pass out drunk before we even get to the table." Sasori muttered.

Deidara laughed. "My tolerance is not that low. You're mocking me." He slipped in beside a tall brunette with blue eyes. "Hi, there. My friend and I are new to town and we thought you and your friend over here might be nice enough to give us a tour, hmm?" He drawled, as if he were already starting to get intoxicated. Sasori rolled his eyes as he took a chair and sat on it.

"Did you really think that would work?" The girl across Deidara asked, her expression and tone serious. Deidara snorted, chuckling softly.

"Want a drink?"

"You're a pig." Surprisingly, it was not the girls who had said this. All eyes turned to Sasori who felt a little proud of his sentiment.

"Hey, un. Whose side are you on, anyway?" Deidara whined. "But forget him," He turned back to the girls again, "I'm more interested in you two right now. Tell me about you two."

The girl's exchanged glances. True enough, Deidara's pathetic charms were working their way in. Sasori could roll his eyes all day.

"I'm Hikari." The red-headed one beside Sasori said, feeling a little more comfortable now. She looked pretty young compared to her friend, but Deidara figured she was only a late bloomer.

"Kaori." The brunette said. Her eyes were intent on them both, refusing to let her guard down. Her sceptic attitude only made Deidara lust for her even more. "Don't try anything funny. I have a black belt in taekwondo."

"Mhm, of course, un." Deidara mumbled.

Sasori wondered as to whether Deidara was actually a magician. He watched the minutes tick by with Kaori and Hikari throwing themselves and their stories into a Deidara who only nodded and laughed and stuck random comments here and there. It was like magic. Either that or the kid had more charisma than Sasori ever credited him with. They had a few more drinks, nothing too hard.

"Listen, I promised Sasori here that we're all going to have fun. So, if you both don't come with us now, I'm going to get in trouble with him. But then again, I'm always in trouble with him, so I don't know why I even bother anymore." Kaori threw herself at him, trying to hold him closer.

"Don't leave. You're amazing." Her voice was tinged with alcohol. Hikari whimpered.

"We'll do it. Right, Kaori?"

"Of course."

Deidara grinned. Sasori wondered as to whether the girls realized they had fallen straight for his trap. Probably not. "Out we go, then, un."

Then they were gone. Deidara checked into a nearby motel, sober still and straight-faced despite the brunette clinging to his neck. Hikari was leaning on to Sasori as they walked. When Sasori entered the room, which Deidara left open, Deidara already had Kaori up against the wall, their tongues dancing together, her legs around his waist. His eyes were glued to Sasori as he kissed her and set her down the nearby bed gently. Then Deidara put his arms around Hikari, one around her shoulders, the other supporting her legs in the tradition bridal-style of carrying a woman. He locked his mouth with hers for several seconds before plopping her beside an intoxicated Kaori.

"There are rules, un." Deidara took two white handkerchiefs from his pockets. "Neither of you sees anything. But rest assured, both of you will feel everything." He tied them tightly around Kaori's eyes first before doing the same to Hikari.

"You're not fond of this dress, are you, un?" Deidara asked.

"No, please, just rip it off already." Kaori whined. Deidara had the mouth of his hands strapped to the back of her neck, lapping on her skin. The whimpering sounds that came from her proved that they were quite effective.

"And you, Hikari?"

"I always hated this dress." She blurted out. Sasori knew it was a lie. She said earlier that it was her favourite. And with good reason, too; it looked absolutely perfect on her. Nevertheless, Deidara did as he pleased.

"If you both insist." Deidara took out a switch blade and ran it down Kaori's dress from the inside, ripping it to shreds, leaving her clothed only in her underwear. Deidara didn't even stop to notice her gentle curves or her small stomach. Sasori noted how disappointed this made Kaori, to be ignored like that. Next, he tore away Kaori's dress and used the cloth to secure their wrists to the bed's metal frame. He tied them as expertly as any boy scout.

"Switch blade?" Sasori raised a questioning brow."

"Self-defence," Deidara laughed in spite of himself.

"Right." A small smile slipped on Sasori. He was relieved that Deidara didn't seem to notice. Deidara kicked the door close, not bothering to lock it, and stood before Sasori, meeting his eyes. "They're rather intoxicated, aren't they?" Sasori muttered.

"Just a little drunk, really. I didn't let them drunk too much, un."

"I wasn't talking about the alcohol." _I was talking about you. They're drunk on you._ Sasori kept the last part to himself, though Deidara got the message anyway. But he did nothing to acknowledge this. Instead, he shoved two fingers into Sasori's mouth. "What was that about?" Sasori narrowed his eyes at him. Deidara glanced at his fingers for a short second before wiping them on his pants.

"You've got a tongue, un. Use it."

Sasori watched Deidara saunter back into the bed and work his craft. His lips entered Kaori's welcoming mouth without hesitation and easily overpowered her. He got Hikari up to speed with only the mouth of his right hand. Deidara motioned for Sasori to take over, but he did nothing at first. Eventually, he succumbed to it and pushed away Deidara's hand from Hikari. He took it slow at first, as if it were his first time to do this. Still, his eyes were wide open and set on Deidara as he made quick work of Kaori. It may have taken ten, twenty, or even thirty minutes before they were both done and the girls fell asleep, clearly exhausted despite not having done any of the work.

"Shouldn't we kill them? They're bound to tell someone what happened." Sasori asked nonchalantly. They had left the two girls in the motel, not bothering to so much as untie their bonds. Deidara laughed.

"They will tell everyone they know, I'm sure of it. They're young and they're girls. It's in their nature." Deidara shrugged.

"Pein will slaughter me for this." Sasori muttered. But even as he said this, he realized that he didn't care. Neither did Deidara.

It was well past midnight and they were two seemingly young men walking down a narrow paved street that looked at least two hundred years old. Deidara was looking up at the sky; Sasori could swear he could walk into a pole at any given moment.

"Has anyone ever told you that the loudest thing in the world is silence? You can sleep through your sensei's lecture or even your dog howling, but you'll never be able to ignore complete silence. There's something about it that unnerves the human mind. For as long as those girls tell their stories, no matter what those stories are, no one will be suspicious. It's the kind of thing that happens all the time.

Sasori sighed. Deidara's logic was warped, and maybe not at all true, but it had gotten him through eighteen years of life. Sasori figured it was worth a shot.

* * *

><p><strong>AN: Slightly unrelated to the others, but the latter part was the one shot I wrote before but never posted. Since the fic was named after it, I decided to squeeze it in. I don't want to give this fic an M rating, so here's hoping this one is clean enough to stay T. There's about two or three chapters left in Part I, so bear with me. I promise everything will be revealed in Part II.**


	8. Inspiration

**[Disclaimer]**

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter Eight<strong>

**Inspiration**

_Tick, tick, tick..._

The military was a selfish and greedy place. They wanted power, power in any form, no matter how dangerous or unstable. They loved him for his unique power. The loved him for how great he was at taking the lives of others. But they had been blinded by this love of power; they did not even realize that he had destroyed more of them than the enemy. But they couldn't get rid of him, no. They did not want to lose that power forever, despite all it had done against them. And so they had only sealed him off by stitching together the most powerful mouth together to control the power, hoping that it would remain dormant until they needed the power again.

This is Deidara's story.

At the age of thirteen, this was his first mission. It was in a small destroyed city in what appeared to be Afghanistan where he and his comrades were unleashed. He saw his teammates attempt to kill the enemy, but despite their training they were unable to keep the civilians out of it. Bombs fell not on the enemies but on civilian homes instead. Soldiers evaded the bullets which went straight into the innocents.

Despite the wretched feeling he had, Deidara's hands were dirtier than anyone else. He was the living bomb, the one nobody dared to come close to. He could incinerate anyone and everyone had did so in a blink of an eye. He had no partners as even his comrades were afraid of him.

And then a strange thing happened.

It was a young boy, no older than seven, with creamy brown skin and dirty hair. He was dressed in rags, clutching dearly to a worn stuffed toy as he came fearlessly towards Deidara. Deidara can see now that the boy was injured, having received a bullet wound to one of his shoulders, yet refusing to cry at the pain of it.

"You're just a boy, right?" The little boy asked desperately. "Mommy and Daddy went to sleep after they were shot by the soldiers. I got shot by the soldiers. Does that mean I'm going to go to sleep too?" Deidara narrowed his eyes at the child. "Please take care of him. He didn't get shot, so maybe he'll live, right? Please take care of Sergeant for me."

Deidara couldn't accept the worn toy. He was frozen in place, not knowing of what he should do. But it was too late to do anything then, as the little boy was shot repeatedly by an enemy who tried to shoot Deidara while his guard was down. The young boy fell to his knees first, spilling blood on Sergeant, before lying face-down on the dirt. In his rage, Deidara sent a bomb flying straight to the enemy, causing his head to explode upon impact.

He knelt down on the ground and wiggled the bloodied toy from the dead child. _Sergeant_, Deidara thought. _You're mine now._

**October 12, 10:48am**

"I want everything you have on Deidara." Sasori said impatiently.

"Patience, Sasori." Zetsu complained. "His files are locked tighter than the president's personal safe. He was, after all, a powerful top-secret military project."

Sasori narrowed his eyes at the word 'project.' It made Deidara seem like some unfeeling thing, when Sasori knew by then that he was not. Sasori gripped tightly on the papers he held. He was huddled together on the corner of Deidara's favourite sofa, golden velvet and overstuffed, reading and rereading the files Itachi had given him at day one. But nothing there interested him. He wanted the deeper, more important and more secretive stuff that nobody was supposed to see or know anymore.

"Here you are." Itachi said now. He had briefly entered the room only seconds before. He laid down a series of worn leather-bound journals before Sasori. Sasori felt the tension in the air. For some reason, Itachi had become colder and more distant in the past day. And while he was certain that Itachi could feel it too, Sasori did not want to press the subject on. "Don't ask as to how I managed to acquire them. It wasn't the easiest thing in the world."

"Thanks." Sasori mumbled.

He picked up the first journal and began flipping through it just as Itachi headed for the exit. Most of the stuff he saw he considered as junk. He was disgusted by the amount of experimenting the military had wanted to test on Deidara. Of course they never managed to do any of those testing, what with Deidara's temper and pride. The man would never let himself fall so deep as to become an ordinary lab rat. Sasori smiled.

Deidara's abilities were originally discovered at the age of seven, when he along with his mother and father had come to visit Onoki in one of the bases. They expressed genuine interest in his abilities right away, but Onoki kept them from doing anything rash until Deidara was old enough to go under special training. He excelled in every field that he was trained in, as the boy had a clear determination and natural talent for the art of killing. At the age of thirteen, he was deployed in Afghanistan for his first mission.

Sasori's eyes skimmed through the various lists of all of the missions Deidara had gone through in the past. They seemed to range from ordinary missions to dangerous assassinations. In due time, Deidara had evolved from a soldier into an assassin. Still, he was never alone in any of his missions. The military must have feared losing him. His last mission was to assassinate a powerful criminal who had been reported to be wandering nearby. But...it was blank.

"It was you, un."

An alarmed Sasori nearly jumped as Deidara took a seat beside him, eyes glued to the journal Sasori held on one hand. He closed the journal and set it down on the table.

"I'm sorry."

"For what, un?" Deidara sighed. "I know you were just curious. It was you, you know."

"What about me?" He cocked his head to the side in honest wonder.

"The last mission, un. It was to assassinate you."

**11:53am**

"It was late at night and we were all huddled around the fire roasting dinner and swapping stories. They were all speaking ill of the Great Sasori of the Red Sand, each of them wanting a piece of you to bring home to their wives, un. Of course, our leader knew that in the end it was only I who had a chance at even grazing you. But I was tired. I had gone through so many missions in such a short period of time, un. I was tired physically and emotionally and I just wanted to go home and dream. I was also tired of having to listen to the egoistic claims of my arrogant teammates. So I decided to take a walk, un. The leader wouldn't let me go at first, saying that I would be defenceless if you were ever to come by. I waved him off.

"I didn't know which way to go at first. I only felt the need to be elsewhere, to walk until their voices had faded and I was alone in the darkness. And that's what I did, un. I kept mumbling to myself that after that last mission, I will go home and rest. I was tired of this military business. I was overexerting myself as it was. I think I ended up napping some three kilometres away from the camp. It wasn't until the morning that I woke up and realized what had happened, un.

"Walking back to the camp, I expected nothing to have happened. But I was so wrong, un. Dozens of my former comrade's bodies lay dead all around. They died of the poison injected into them by throwing needles that were hurled into their necks all in the exact same place. I was terrified, un. I tried to find a single live body, but to no avail. The fact that it was you who had done it had not even occurred to me. It wasn't until I fould the leader's body that it was confirmed to me. He had a knife stuck into his head, with the words 'Sasori of the Red Sand' carved into its wooden hilt." Deidara look to Sasori now. "But despite that, I feel no animosity towards you, un. I respect your power and your abilities, and that is all."

"I'm sorry." Sasori found himself shameless apologizing for the second time that hour alone. Deidara shook his head.

"It's of no consequence, un. Onoki was only glad that I survived the attack. And because of that I got my freedom back—at least, most of it."

"So that's why you left?"

"It was Onoki in the end who allowed it to happen; gave up his post if only to protect me from the destiny they wanted for me. My largest and most powerful mouth was stitched up and he was forced to retire, un. Ever since then, I've had no encounters with those people anymore. I think they pretend to forget about me, even if they can't." He paused. "You know that saying, 'what doesn't kill you makes you stronger?' Well, sometimes they don't kill you physically. Afghanistan killed me inside. I was never the same after serving. The military didn't make me stronger. They killed my sanity. My life ended years ago, Sasori, it really did. I'm just waiting for my body to rot away now. You can't sympathize with that."

"You have no idea." A sad smile slipped.

**3:15pm**

Kisame was playing chess with Itachi and losing.

"Think faster, Kisame." Itachi said impatiently. Kisame had been staring at the board blankly for fifteen minutes already.

"Shut up. Let me take my time. I will win, Itachi, even just this once."

"Kisame, your position is hopeless."

"That's what you always say. I'm here to tell you that you're wrong." Kisame said proudly as he moved his bishop to eat Itachi's horse.

"Checkmate." Itachi smiled as his queen graced through the opening Kisame created and ate his King. Kisame's mouth opened in shock.

"What the—"

"Language, Kisame." Itachi warned lightly. He picked up his phone even before it began vibrating in his pants. "Itachi Uchiha speaking. What do you want, Hidan?"

**3:23pm**

"Hidan really found her, un?" Deidara asked again, seeking endless confirmation.

"Yes. Now stop asking and come with me." Sasori quipped.

Deidara did not stop asking. Not when they went into the car, not when they stepped out of it. He was feeling more and more light-headed by the passing moment. The past few days whizzed by in his head. Kurotsuchi was with Hidan and she was safe. She was safe!

"Where is she, un?"

"Inside." Sasori said as he took once quick glance at the place they had ended up in. It was a seedy bar at the end of town, the kind of place where criminals gathered, but it was not unlike Hidan to choose such a location to meet up in.

Inside, dozens of sleazy men were gathered playing poker and otherwise busying themselves. Only a few people turned to see the newcomers make their way to the back room. Deidara went first. They were secured in to a windowless room. Sasori's heart started beating quickly. He was feeling claustrophobic and...something else. As if they were in danger.

"Kurotsuchi!" Deidara exclaimed as he saw his cousin. She was dressed in fresh clothing, just the basic garments you'd expect a young woman to wear out. He embraced her, holding her tightly. He truly did miss her.

"Deidara, you have to leave now. Leave me here and go!" She cried. The tears were fresh in her eyes. Deidara wiped them away.

"What do you mean, un? We're finally reunited. I'm so relieved."

Sasori's eyes narrowed at her suggestion. He didn't need to look around to see that they were the only ones in the room. Hidan was nowhere to be found. He turned around and beat at the door only to see that they were locked in.

"It's a trap." Sasori seethed.

A noxious gas was released; Deidara and Kurotsuchi instantly began coughing. Within moments, they were unconscious on the floor. Thanks to Sasori's lack of need to breathe, it did not affect him. He was preparing himself for the worst.

And the worst appeared.

Termites were released into the room, millions of them all focused on him. They ate away his flesh and left him otherwise virtually powerless. There was only one person who knew of such a tactic to use against him and that people's silhouette soon materialized before him.

"Are you having fun, Sasori?" The snake-like voice mused.

"Orochimaru." Sasori spat. His face was filled with holes. Soon, the termites would reach his heart and he would die.

"No, I won't let you die so easily." Orochimaru said, as if reading his mind. "You deserve something...more fitting than simply death."

"I'll kill you." Sasori threatened, but Orochimaru only cackled in laughter.

"I dare you to try, my little marionette. I truly dare you to try."

**3:52pm**

"He's not answering. It's unlike him." Itachi muttered after having dialled Sasori for the umpteenth time and getting no answer.

"Maybe Deidara took him to a bar to celebrate or something." Kisame suggested.

"Kisame, this is Sasori we are talking about." Itachi reminded him. He couldn't help feeling restless. Despite the gap Sasori's betrayal had formed between them, Itachi couldn't help but feel for him.

"Then maybe Hidan did."

"Even Hidan isn't that stupid."

"Then you try coming up with excuses. It's hard." Kisame grumbled. Itachi narrowed his eyes.

"I'm calling Kakuzu." Itachi finally said.

Kisame sighed, staring at his best friend and partner converse rather boringly with the man on the other end of the line. Itachi's expression went from worried to alarmed in a matter of seconds. Next thing he knew, both Hidan and Kakuzu had made their way into the hotel room, for once without an argument of some sort.

"You mean you lost your phone this morning?" Kisame repeated incredulously.

"What of it, fucker?" Hidan jabbed. He was a little—a lot, really—touchy.

"What kind of _spy_ loses their phone?"

"Stolen, actually. By an ordinary pickpocket." Kakuzu pointed out, earning himself a nice glare from Hidan. Before the two burst into argument, Itachi stepped between them both.

"I'm getting a bad feeling about this, Itachi." Kisame noted out of the silence.

"You think?" Itachi said sarcastically.

**Unknown**

There was no one to hear his screams. Not that he was screaming.

Kurotsuchi was gone. Sasori was gone. And to make things worse, he was strapped to a gurney blindfolded. Deidara could feel the cold metallic scalpel against his chest. It tore his skin, not that he cared for the pain. It was the fact that he was starting to feel that...hunger again. His heart was pounding. His chest was throbbing, hungering for blood.

The sound deafened him. He opened his eyes, but all he could see was the darkness. He struggled, but all that did was seemingly tighten his bonds. The throbbing was getting stronger. The need was becoming overwhelming. The fools had cut open the last of the special threads that held his sanity in check.

Was it screaming? It was awfully loud, whatever sound it made. He could hear it through the vicious pounding of his heart. And was that...people screaming? The fools must have realized their mistake the bloody way. And they paid for that mistake with their very lives.

The mouth was satiated and the bonds were freed. Deidara peeled the cloth from his eyes to see a terrible sight. The minute light that was allowed through the tainted windows revealed to him the silhouette of the small massacre he had done without actual effort. While it was a familiar sight, nobody ever really got used to seeing dead bodies littered all around them.

But he had no time to be mulling over what had already transpired. The mouth would have to be stitched again as soon as possible lest it hunger again, but he was intent on saving Kurotsuchi and maybe even Sasori first.

_Tick, tick, tick..._

"Left or right?" Deidara mumbled to himself as soon as he entered the hall.

**Unknown**

"Wake up, poppet."

He was on the floor, face down on the cold. His limbs were numb, hard to move. Normally he could feel nothing, not heat nor cold or pain or pleasure, but it was his heart spilling out of his container that felt the chilling cold seeping inside it. When he opened his eyes, it took all of his leftover strength only to lift his hands to his face. He cried out when he saw how destroyed his body was. It broke the last of him.

More termites crawling. He screamed in pain as they made their way into his heart. Someone poured a bucket of ice-cold water violently on him. The termites were gone, washed away, but the heart was feeling number and number. He moaned in pain as someone flipped him over. He was seething by the time his artificial eyes met the snakelike ones of his old partner Orochimaru.

"Wakey, wakey, little Sasori. How does it feel to be so utterly helpless?" Sasori spat at him. Orochimaru slapped him for it. Sasori could vaguely remember a time long ago when he was in a similar position. So, so utterly helpless. He hated it. "Oh?" He cocked his side to the side. "Looks like we have company, Sasori. Is he a friend of yours perhaps?"

Sasori's eyes widened in surprise. Was it Deidara? Had he come to rescue him? No, Deidara was knocked out...

"Deidara couldn't possibly have come." Sasori said bitterly, more to himself than to anyone else.

"Well that's a fine way to thank me for doing just that, un." Deidara said sarcastically. His chest was bare and bleeding, but he didn't seem to so much as notice it. Sasori stared at him incredulously.

"Brat, what are you doing here?" He hissed.

"Saving you, obviously, un. So just shut up and let me beat the shit out of this guy."

"No," Sasori grumbled. "He's mine. Go away."

"Are you joking me right now? You're half-dead—mostly dead, really—and you still have the conceit to say that to me, un?"

"He's dangerous, Deidara."

"So am I. Now shut up."

Sasori refused to follow the orders of a child—at least, whom he considered to be a child. But he was just in so much miserable pain. He didn't think Deidara could take Orochimaru, and neither did Orochimaru. He was going to go easy on the blonde, Sasori could feel it. Orochimaru was testing Deidara's power as Deidara blasted Orochimaru's snakes; snakes that were only there to protect him in the first place, not to attack just yet.

And then the impossible happened.

Deidara got through Orochimaru's shield and physically wounded him in the gut. After having blown a large hole into Orochimaru, Deidara felt more confident than ever. He continued to barrage the snake with bombs, his mouth spitting them without pause. Orochimaru was getting overpowered. He couldn't find an opening to recover.

"Sasori," Orochimaru hissed. "Tell him to stop!"

"As if, un." Deidara said. "This is too much fun. Die. You deserve it, un."

He was coming closer to Sasori, each step taken slowly and with caution. He leaned down to pick Sasori off the floor, one arm over and around Sasori's limp body and the other shooting bombs at Orochimaru still. The latter could no nothing but protect himself from the bombs. He cursed Deidara.

"Just one last finishing piece—"

"No." Sasori found himself saying. He was surprised by his words more than even Deidara, who paused to give him a weird look. "Don't kill him. Please."

Before Deidara could say anything, Orochimaru was already laughing quite sinisterly.

"Still harbouring feelings for me, aren't you, Sasori?" Orochimaru taunted. Deidara's expression only deepened. He was really, really lost. He didn't think Sasori even knew the guy at first much less actually like him.

"What is it, Sasori?" Deidara asked now, irritated with having to think.

"He's injured. He can't catch up to us if we go now." Sasori said as if trying to convince himself.

"Whatever you say." Deidara sighed. He blasted Orochimaru one last time in the leg, just to make sure. Sasori said nothing to that.

"Where do you think you're going? The exit's that way." Sasori grumbled.

"Finding Kurotsuchi. I can't leave her behind." Deidara said seriously. He was trying his best to run with Sasori weighing him down. Sasori was doing his best to stay in one piece. His body was crumbling more with each step.

"There's no time for that!" Sasori quipped.

"You're the one who didn't want to kill the prick." Deidara almost rolled his eyes.

"Just head for the exit. She probably isn't even here."

With each empty room, Deidara grew ever more desperate. At last, they went into the last room. It was as empty as the others. Still, Deidara refused to go.

"We're going to die." Sasori sighed. He figured Orochimaru would have completely healed himself by that time. It was only a matter of seconds until...

Nothing. They were the only people left in the building. There weren't many people to begin with in the first place, actually. Sasori was feeling an impending premonition.

"They're blowing up the building." Sasori finally realized. Deidara could already hear it.

_Tick, tick, tick..._

"We have to go, un."

"That's what I've been trying to tell you all this time." Sasori said tiredly.


	9. An Honest Mind

**[Disclaimer]**

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><p><strong>Chapter Nine<strong>

**An Honest Mind**

**October 12, 7:14pm**

"I can already hear our lives ticking away, un..." Deidara muttered. "Which way out?"

"We're on a tall building. Top floor. We'll never make it." Sasori sighed. "It was nice knowing you. Really."

"Oh, shut up, un." Deidara quipped. "I don't want to hear that coming from you. Just leave it to me, un."

Deidara could only go so fast with Sasori riding on his back. His puppet body was gravely injured, having been attacked by Orochimaru's termites, incapacitating him. Only bits and pieces of his body were left intact and able; his legs were, unfortunately, not one of them.

Deidara had not bothered closing any of the doors he'd opened as he frantically searched for his missing cousin. Sasori thought that it made everything seem that much more hopeless.

"Hold on tight, un."

"To what?"

Deidara was gaining speed as he approached the glass wall that led to the outside world. They only had a few seconds now...

The impact was hard. Deidara managed to shatter the glass with it, leaving both he and Sasori airborne. He only had a moment now. He tightened his grip on Sasori's working shoulder, refusing to let go. He spat a fat wad of white clay from his mouth as they were propelled by gravity to the cement pavement of the streets.

"Hang on. We're almost there, un."

The clay Deidara had puked out began reforming itself into the form of a large bird. It was big enough to carry them both to safety. As Deidara landed on its soft back, Sasori still with him, the modern glass building behind them burst into flames. They had made it just in time.

"What is this?" Sasori hissed. The fact that they had narrowly escaped death had not sunk in yet.

"My secret project, un. I've been saving this little baby for weeks."

They were now soaring higher and higher into the endless blue sky. Soon they were so high up Sasori didn't think any of the city folk could see more than a black silhouette in the distance. Nothing strange here, folks; move along.

"Where to, un?" Deidara asked cheerfully much later on.

"Anywhere but here." And then he closed his eyes.

"Home it is, un."

**October 13, 8:35am**

"This looks like heavy damage, un."

"You think?" Sasori sounded sarcastic and bitter, but Deidara ignored him.

The blonde-haired bomber had Sasori lie down calmly on a large king-sized bed as he inspected the damages the termites had done to Sasori's carefully crafted wooden body. At the state he was in, Sasori could barely move, let alone cure himself as he did before. Deidara knew that it was time to take matters into his own hands.

"It's wood. Your entire body's made of wood." Deidara remarked as he began feeling the material. It was broken and crumbling at his touch.

"It wasn't always so." Sasori said wistfully. "Do you think you can fix it?"

"Maybe." Deidara shrugged. "Just so you know, I've never handled wood before, un. I may not be very good at it."

"I expected that." Sasori sighed. "Just do what you can, and I'll try to do the rest."

"Alright, un."

In the end, Deidara wasn't so bad with wood after all. Sasori had to verbally instruct him the entire time, but the boy had a natural talent for sculpting things. Deidara had completely redone Sasori's entire body, from his delicate fingers to his stubby toes. Sasori had been very nervous during the short time Deidara had spent fixing the wood around his heart container. Luckily for him, the heart container remained more or less perfectly intact.

"So this is your life source, un?" Deidara mused, fingering the writing on Sasori's heart container. Sasori winced.

"Don't do that. It's scaring me." Sasori quipped.

"I thought you were immortal."

"That was foolish of you to think no. There's no such thing as true immortality in this world. Not even Hidan or Kakuzu are really immortal when it comes down to it." Sasori said tiredly.

Deidara remained quiet for some time after that. His brows were furrowed together as if he was concentrating on something, but he did not leave the room. Sasori had tested moving his fingers and his toes over and over again, initially to test the joints Deidara had made for him and then again just because he was quickly becoming bored.

"What are you thinking about?" Sasori finally asked after a long time.

"Nothing, un." He sighed. "It's just that I can't believe how close I was to getting her back, you know? It's confusing me, un. And," He lowered his voice, "I'm getting scared. I'm not concentrating on getting her anymore the way I was before. I'm losing my drive. What if I end up not caring anymore, un? I'm getting to comfortable with her gone."

Sasori looked at him thoughtfully. "Your worrying only means that you do care, brat. You should worry more about not worrying in the future, if that makes any sense."

Deidara smiled sadly. "I guess you're right, un."

Then, out of nowhere, Itachi and Kisame barged into the room. Kisame looked upset, but Itachi's face looked no different than usual.

"What happened here?" Itachi asked right away. He took in the sight of Sasori's freshly sculpted body and sighed. "I suppose you two fell into his trap."

"Great observation." Sasori quipped.

Kisame spotted the remains of Sasori's old body stashed in the corner and gasped.

"Termite damage." Sasori explained before Kisame got the chance to ask. "He stuffed me in a room filled with termites."

"Well, at least you're alive." Kisame said, feigning relief. "After I didn't hear from you for hours, I thought that you might have died."

Sasori shot him a scary glare which in turn made Deidara laugh.

"He's alright, un. I don't think it's that easy to kill Sasori."

"Itachi would know." Kisame agreed.

"Enough with the small talk." Itachi said in a dismissive tone. "I need to speak to Sasori privately. Kisame, Deidara, would you two mind—"

"Certainly. Of course. Okay. Let's go, Deidara." Kisame said as he exited the room. Deidara shot one last glance at Sasori before following Kisame's lead out.

As soon as Deidara shut the door behind him, everything went quiet. Even the little click sound the door made became much too loud for Sasori. Sasori refused to look Itachi in the face.

"You're a traitor." Itachi said bitterly. Sasori narrowed his eyes but said nothing. "Do you have any words to defend yourself?"

"I don't know what you're talking about."

"Then _think_." Itachi ordered. "Who was that man you chasing during the carnival? And why did you set him free?"

"I can't say." Sasori muttered. He turned to his side and closed his eyes, as if it would make Itachi go away. He had just had his body infested with termites. He was tired.

"I don't know whose side you're on anymore." Itachi shook his head in contempt. "Give me a reason to trust you again."

A long moment passed. "He's my spy."

"What?"

"The man I was chasing. He's my spy. I sent him years ago to spy on Orochimaru."

"Why didn't you tell anybody this before?" Itachi didn't know whether to act relieved just yet. "Why didn't you tell even just me about this?"

"It didn't occur to me."

Itachi narrowed his eyes at him. "You know, all this time, I thought you had changed. But now I see you're still the same. You're heartless and secretive and loyal only to yourself." He sighed. "And even if I did forgive you for this, for hiding such a crucial thing from me, it might take a while for my anger to dissipate."

"I know that." Sasori half-smiled at him.

"So," Itachi said slowly, "what are you going to do about Orochimaru?"

"I'm going to kill him." Sasori said nonchalantly. "It's me he's after, anyhow. I'm the reason he had launched this whole kidnapping fiasco. I have to be the one to kill him."

"Question is, are you capable of doing just that?"

"I've killed many men in my lifetime, Itachi. Soldiers and traitors and civilians. I'm not particularly choosy with my victims—"

"I don't doubt your strength. But this time your target isn't a total stranger. It's Orochimaru. Are you willing to destroy your old partner?"

"Partner?" A stunned voice repeated from behind the door. It opened to reveal a bewildered Deidara who had been listening in on the conversation. "The enemy was your _partner?_"

Sasori said nothing. Itachi only grimaced, seeing that Kisame failed to distract Deidara until the end of his little talk.

"Is that true, Sasori?" Deidara asked, still in denial. "He was your partner, un?"

"I've made many mistakes in the past." Sasori said nonchalantly. "He was one of them."

"I'm going to leave you two alone." Itachi said, clearly not interested in the imminent spat between Sasori and Deidara. Just as he said it, he disappeared into the long halls.

"Why didn't you tell me this, Sasori? Why, un?"

"I don't like to talk about it."

"Not even to me, un? I thought that...that..."

"That what?"

"That you trusted me, un!" Deidara almost yelled it out loud. He could barely control his temper now. It was quite obvious. Sasori furrowed together his dainty little red brows.

"This can't be the first time someone's failed you."

"It's not." Deidara said bitterly. "But I expected more from you, Sasori, un."

"Then you've been too optimistic."

Deidara turned away. "Perhaps, un."

Sasori patted on the empty space beside him, urging Deidara to come to him and sit there.

"Would you like to know now?" Deidara nodded. Sasori hesitated. "It goes a long way back. Orochimaru and I met when we were a lot younger. I may not look like it, but I'm thirty-five years old. He was a rogue that time. A fugitive, if you must. And I was my grandmother's pride and joy, the youngest Akatsuki member at the time at the age of fifteen. I had only just transformed myself into this, a living puppet, then. How that happened is something I chose to forget. Anyway, moving on. We were best friends, complimenting each other in the best ways. We were both poison experts, you see. We just had so much in common. Our partnership was blissful and easy. And I had thought that everything was going well, going perfectly well; at least, until that last day. I had come from my night walks, expecting nothing when I got home. I was so, so wrong. I ended up walking into my best friend's execution. You don't know how it feels like, when the person you trusted the most, is about to be decapitated right in front of your eyes. By your other friends, no less! Itachi and Kisame were there holding him down. And Pein was holding up this big butcher knife he'd picked out from the kitchen. They were all surprised to see me. Orochimaru asked for my help. Itachi, Kisame and Pein suddenly didn't know what to do. I helped him escape; him, Orochimaru, the worst man in the world. I didn't know it that time, of course. Pein only explained to me the situation afterwards, but by that time Orochimaru was already gone."

"So you're the reason he's still alive, un."

"Everybody makes mistakes." Sasori sighed. "It's my fault. I was so blind around him. He was secretly leading one of the worst criminal organizations in the world. The only reason he joined the Akatsuki was so that he could personally sabotage our actions toward him and his people. I was so foolish. I left Akatsuki soon afterwards. I couldn't bear it any longer."

Deidara narrowed his eyes. "There's something you're not telling me, un."

To this, Sasori said nothing. The two sat together in silence for a long time. By the time Deidara stood up to go to his own room to rest, Itachi and Kisame were gone.

Sasori wondered if he could sleep now. The pillow was too soft and puffy for his taste. The sheets were too silky and the mattress hard. And the more he stared out in darkness the more sadness and regret he felt. He began tracing the floral pattern of the bed sheets quietly. Hours had passed quietly and slowly. It felt like an eternity before Sasori's phone began to beep.

"Hello?"

"Sasori, its Kakuzu. We found Orochimaru."


End file.
